A Ghost Within the Mind
by UngratefulMinds
Summary: Ozpin invites a new professor to Beacon, a prodigy in the fields of medicine. However, the new professor seemingly grows more erratic as the school year progresses. It's as if a ghost from the past is coming back to haunt his dreams. Every day seems to morph into a waking nightmare for him. A nightmare he can't seem to wake up from. (OC x Coco and Velvet)
1. To The Beginning

The winter front. It was a _gift_ from the gods themselves. It would seem he would always find himself lost in the frost and snow every day. Oh, how he loved this place, this wonderland. He would smile as he ran and dove into the snow, landing softly on his back as he stared into the sky, gentle snowflakes brushing against his skin. His warm cheeks would melt them, and he would feel the brisk droplets roll down his cheeks. He would lay there for (what felt like) forever until finally, he would feel his eyelids grow heavy and his breaths to soften. He would gently close his eyes and dream, not of what he was, but what he could be.

The barren winter front. It was his _reward_ for always striving to do his best. It would seem he would always find himself wandering in the abyss of frost and snow in every life. He would stumble on for days, only pausing ever so often to look back at the drunken tracks he made. He would smile as he staggered and collapsed into the snow, landing on his back as his broken on contorted body refused to go any further. He would feel the sharp stings of snowflakes as they cut deep into his skin. But even so, he would still have the audacity to say that he was satisfied and contempt with himself. He would lay there for all of eternity, forever bound to this barren winter front. Finally, he would feel his soul slip from his grasp. His nightmare was finally over, yet his eyelids would refuse to close.

* * *

Upon the fields of gold. It was a _blessing_ from the gods themselves. It would seem he would always find himself brushing his fingertips lightly against the grains of wheat every day. Oh, how this place soothed him, this utopia. He would smile as he knelt to cradle the riches of Remnant in the palms of his hands. He would feel his heart warm as the sun would beam upon his face and on his crops. He would look down from his hilltop only to see rows upon rows of golden, pride-filled labor. Feeling satisfied, he would lay on his back and lock his fingers behind his neck, whilst having a straw of grass sticking between his teeth. He would stare at the clouds soaring above and laugh as his imagination would take hold.

Upon the fields of rotting flesh and fresh blood. It was his _curse_ for succumbing to the temptations of poised envy. It would seem he would always find himself smearing his fingertips roughly against the ripped and torn flesh from corpses of men, women, and children alike. He would whisper white lies of dwindling sanity as he cradled the crumbling ashes and dust of putrid flesh in the palms of his hands. He would feel his heart shatter and a lump in his throat to form as the sun shun itself upon the slaughter. He would look down from the mountain of corpses only to see a sea of blood tainting both the land and his mind. Feeling delusional, he would collapse onto his back, feeling the rotten flesh and shattered bone give way beneath his weight. He would stare at the bleak sky and laugh maniacally as his madness would take hold.

* * *

Neither can be saved. Not the one who was gifted nor the one who was blessed. Not the one who was rewarded nor the one who was cursed. All one can do is mourn what they were—brothers—and who they will become— _Lost Edens_.


	2. A Change of Pace

**"Great things never come from chance, they come from change"- Unknown**

* * *

Abel quivered slightly as he felt a cool wind slide over his legs, that dangled over the edge of aircraft he was riding in. Or rather, his leg, for lack of a better term. He felt the metal padding beneath his body.

It was cold and rigid, yet rejuvenating all the same to him. It had been a while since he had sat on anything that wasn't leather. Just the thought of sitting on the material once again sent chills running down his back. But he knew had would have to, one way or another. After all, having only one leg made traveling on foot "slightly" difficult.

The creaking sound of rusted and aged metal admittedly made Abel jump a bit. He always did hate that sound and what it entailed. Of course, he didn't hate who created the sound. It was his dearest assistant and personal caretaker, Elisa, slowly bringing his wheelchair towards him. _"_

 _Hate the sin, not the sinner,"_ Abel thought to himself. Why would he hate her? She was the most faithful and endearing companion to ever accompany him throughout the ages. She was only doing her job, caring for her dearest childhood friend.

Abel's acute senses were both a blessing and a curse. On one side, it made his job easier. On the other, he could smell the rustic crimson oil-like paint that covered the handles of his wheelchair.

But what was his job exactly? Why he was going to be a professor teaching at the renowned Beacon Academy. To be precise, he specialized in medicinal knowledge. Herbs, drugs, concoctions. Those were his preferred fields of expertise. It allowed Abel to use his acute senses properly, not being wasted on smell the equivalent of a handicap's personal purgatory.

But the headmaster of Beacon, Ozpin, invited him to teach about something far less materialistic. Something that disallowed the use of one's five senses. Rather, it incorporated the sixth sense. Aura healing.

He was especially blessed with his knowledge and foresight in the fields of medicine, yes. But even so, given enough years, a mere amateur could exceed a prodigy like Abel with their own prowess in the field of medicine. Aura healing, however, was a gift specifically tailored to his very soul. No amount of training would allow someone else to surpass Abel.

A soul cannot be grounded up into powders within bowls or boiled into liquids to fill vials. A soul cannot be viewed from the lenses of a microscope. A soul is a person, both flexible and very much capable. But most importantly, unique.

Abel was one of a kind, without a doubt in anyone's mind. Though, he never asked to be such.

Truthfully, he found it to be bothersome how often people would go out of their own daily routine to seek him. He hated this for two reasons in particular. For one, he liked living on the outskirts of Vale. In particular, he had found a spot that yielded such a unique feeling towards him, as if beckoning for him to stay. It was on a mountainside where the moonlight would kiss the Madonna lilies that engulfed the soft dirt below, every single night. There was a waterfall nearby that would peer over the valley below.

You would be forgiven for nearly falling off the cliffs, for the fireflies that would dwell near the edges practically captivating any creature that drew too near.

But if you were to follow the dirt path winding up the mountain even further, you'll simply find a small workshop at the top. Abel's clinic. A place where he could do what he loved, away from the quarrels of Remnant. Depending on the day, you may be greeted with the smell of mints and sweets. On others, it may be a sour and bitter smell.

Nonetheless, the smells were simply the product of progress. Everything happened for a reason within the confines of the clinic.

Even if that "thing" just so happened to be a bit of an argument. In a short synopsis, it took very many confrontations and convincing from Ozpin's personal assistant, Glynda Goodwitch, for Abel to even consider the prospect of teaching. He wasn't comfortable with teaching the next generation of hunters. Hell, social interaction was something he never really liked, period.

He was a man of few words, and spending over an hour chatting away to others rapidly drained him. Not to mention, an hour would only cover a single class before another new batch of students would simply replace the previous one. However, Ozpin assured Abel that he would only be teaching an "optional" class. Students would only choose this class for the sake of extracurricular work.

 _Et voila_ , now Abel was leaning forward on the airship, attempting to peer past its wing to see his destination.

"Ten minutes till we reach our destination, sir!"

Those were the exact words the pilot yelled to Abel and Elisa just a few moments earlier. Abel let out an audible sigh as he attempted to mentally prepare himself for his new, "promising" career. Elise slowly brought his wheelchair beside him, trying not to create the loud creaking noises that always seemed to upset Abel. But to no avail.

Instead of a sigh, it was a small grumble that emitted from Abel's throat. He reached over to his right side and picked up his walking stick. Carefully, he angled his body and shifted his weight onto his remaining foot. Using the stick as support, he propelled his body upright and into the embrace of the wheelchair. Abel did this all in one careful and somewhat unsteady motion.

"Alright, we're here," the pilot said just as Abel sat himself down on his personal, wheeled prison. He turned around and looked at Elisa, flashing a quick and faint smile. It was as if he was trying to assure her, but Elisa knew Abel was just trying to comfort himself. She quietly giggled to herself and began to ruffle his jet black hair. Abel's pale skin flushed a little as he gave Elisa a pouting face in return.

The two of them always seemed to have this kind of relationship with each other. For as long as either of them could remember. Teasing was the name of the game. Playful teasing, as if the two were like brother and sister.

Finally, the aircraft landed in the courtyard of Beacon Academy. At this point, Abel's hair was in complete disarray. Instead of his jet black and snow colored hair being separated at the back of his head with a tie, it all meshed together in an overlapping blend of opposing shades.

Elisa was trying to snuffle her laughter by biting her bottom lip, but tears were visible in the corners of her eyes. Abel was hunched over, overexaggerating his "defeat". Elisa quickly began to clean herself up and gently patted Abel's head, as if saying _"Okay, okay. I'll clean it up."_

Though she didn't verbally say the words, a simple pat was enough for Abel to formulate the words for her.

She was in the middle of fixing his hair when Ozpin and Glynda came to greet Abel and Elisa in the courtyard. Upon looking at the entertaining scene of the pairing, Ozpin simply smiled and quietly sipped his coffee while Glynda let out a small sigh as she playfully rolled her eyes. Still trying to fix Abel's hair, Elisa began to wheel him off of the airship to meet the headmaster and his assistant waiting for just a few feet away. Abel this brief moment to fully absorb his surroundings.

Numerous buildings engulfed the campus, each one fulfilling their own niche within the confines of the academy. He could already sense the enthusiasm and hyperactive tendencies of the students. It both made him feel anxious yet... excited all the same. The urban vibe the campus gave off was animated, completely contrasting the rural tranquility that Abel felt back in his clinic. It would take some time for him to get used to it. That was a given from the start.

 _"But perhaps..."_ Abel began thinking to himself.

 _"A change of pace may be nice... Keyword being may,"_ he concluded to himself as Elisa stopped Abel right in front of Ozpin.

Now standing (and sitting) face to face with one another, Ozpin took his lips off of his mug and looked deeply into Abel's sapphire eyes. The two of men had never met in person, but even so, Ozpin could tell that Abel held great promise within him. Ozpin would be forever grateful that Abel had accepted his invitation to teach at his academy. He looked forward to the distant years they would spend working with one another.

Extending his hand forward, Ozpin said both warmly and confidently, "Welcome to Beacon."


	3. An Enigma

**"Life is always full of surprises, you never know who you are going to meet that will change your life forever" - Unknown**

* * *

"I wonder what the new professor will be like...?" Velvet said aloud, seemingly to both herself and to her elbow partner, Coco. Both were seated at the back of Professor Port's class, trying their absolute best not to slowly lower their heads onto the table before them and quietly drift off into their dreams. Although, the option was considered viable by both girls, seeing as Port just adored rambling to an imaginary audience about the "dashing" adventures he experienced in his youth. How the mighty have fallen.

Coco's gag reflex immediately kicked in as Velvet's words reached her ears. The mere thought that such a person existed, directly copycatting the "poor" excuse of a professor that Port was, made her shutter. Why Ozpin even considered hiring Port in the first place always eluded most students, including Coco herself. Though, she trusted that the headmaster's decisions were not taken lightly. Such as when Ozpin assigned her a team, along with making her the leader of said team. Team CFVY... the name had a nice, subtly ring to it. At first, she was skeptical of her teammates, as anyone would appropriately be when taking charge of "strangers". But over time, she had managed to grow accustomed to each one of her teammates, as well as learn about each one. She picked up all their small habits, quirks, peeves, and any other miscellaneous detail she discovered about them. By the end of the first semester, she knew each of them by heart.

Being the prideful individual that Coco was, it went without saying that she felt empowered whenever her team was near. She felt confident, no, zealous about her team's capabilities. It was as if the entire world of Remnant seemingly revolved around the four of them. However, the estranged feeling coupled with this newfound "fame" grew more so onto her. Coco, the leader of the famed team CFVY. No one would ask for anything finer, no one. At the same time though, her personality sometimes felt as if it was betraying the better part of her. Deep down, Coco knew that it was actually Ozpin who gave her this team, this opportunity to become a huntsman, or woman for lack of a better term. So surely, nothing could go unchecked or turned into a mistake... right?

Bottom line, she could only hope that an old dog could really learn new tricks.

The bell rang, and most of the students all launched their heads upwards, away from their resting position. It was as if the bell sent out a sense of rejuvenation within each one of the students. None were willing to hear another pointless word expel from Port's muse smeared throat. Nonetheless, he still spoke. "Do not forget students! There will be a test happening this Friday! I do expect that all of you will do exceptionally well!" All the students groaned hearing this, either aloud or to themselves. Still, the groans were both evident and universal from each student. Each one of them made a mad dash towards the open classroom doors. But before anyone stepped through them, Port spoke once again. Only this time, instead of each of the students' ears being met with the typical wholehearted tone Port constantly spoke with, it was far colder and serious. "Students, if you have the new professor this next block... _Treat him well_."

Each and every student looked at each other with puzzled expressions. What exactly did he mean? Most of them had already exited the classroom and were well on their way towards their next class. Yet, Port's words still lingered within each of their minds. Of course, most of them simply interpreted that the new professor was a Faunus, something that hadn't been introduced into Beacon's school system yet. Even Coco thought that this was the case.

But not that it should have mattered to the students. The majority of them didn't even have him for their next class. Velvet, however, did.

What Port said caught her attention and held it. She could sense that there was far more meaning behind the phrase, "treat him well". She was a natural born photographer, an individual who peer into the souls of others with a mere flash of a camera. With this talent, she could always find the nit-picky parts of the world. Whether it was a small gesture, the luster in one's eye, or more fitting to the scenario, a way that a person chooses their words.

Velvet knew for a fact that Port's words held its obvious heavy and cold tone, yes, but she felt there was more. She just couldn't put her finger on it, but she could feel there was a presence, a hidden "entity" that tainted those words. It was... _odd_. She could feel an abnormal sensation ran through her nerves when Port said the words. Odd, that's all she could simply chalk it up to be. Time would tell what Port had meant, eventually.

And _eventually_ came by much quicker than expected. Velvet had spaced out into her thoughts. From that point moving forward, everything was simply on auto-pilot. She had walked into an empty classroom and sat at the table nearest to the front. Snapping herself back into reality, she took a brief moment to survey her surroundings. It looked like the rest of the classrooms. Following the "classroom trend", with the only difference being that each classroom had a form of writing or drawings on the whiteboards. Each specifically tailored to the subject each teacher specialized in. For Port, it was the creatures of Grimm and for Oobleck, it was history. For the new professor, it looked to be medical training. Different diagrams dictating a multitude of unique medical procedures, such as CPR, cauterizing wounds, and etcetera.

Velvet spun her head around, checking to see who else was in the classroom with her. Nobody... no one else was in the classroom with her. It was just going to be her and the new professor. Chills began to run down her spine, both in fear and anticipation. Rushed and irrational thoughts began to flood her mind. _"What is gonna happen to me? Is the new professor a male or female? If it's a male, is he gonna try to seduce me?! Wait, that sounds like something that Blake would read... But what if it comes true?! What do I do then?"_

Just then, a faint, high pitched creak snapped her mind back into reality. Her rabbit ears managed to pick up the very distinct sound acutely. It sounded like the noise resonated from just outside the classroom door. Velvet felt her heartbeat quicken as she subconsciously held her breath. Waiting... one of the worst feelings anyone could experience. Anxiety continued to wash over her entire body. The new professor wasn't nursing it at all either. Velvet could sense that he or she was just waiting outside the door.

 _"Why is the professor teasing me?! Is it going to be like this the entire time too? Am I gonna have to deal with a Coco two-point-oh?"_ But all of Velvet's absurd thoughts ceased as she heard an audible sigh come from the doorway. Velvet could simply use common sense to infer the sound came from the professor. Though, it sounded as if the professor was anxious himself... How curious, why would a professor teach when he or she can't even show themselves to their own class? Even if said class is only a single person. _What was the professor hiding?_

Although, Velvet, or anyone for that matter, didn't need to ask these questions. It all became clear to her, as soon as the new professor came into the classroom.


	4. What He Meant

**"Don't judge someone because they sin differently than you"- Unknown**

* * *

Velvet couldn't formulate the words to describe the sight that was set before her brown eyes. The new professor was just a few feet away from her, setting his papers onto his desk. Velvet caught herself staring at him, but nonetheless, she still continued to stare. She just couldn't pry her eyes off of him. It was as if he had set a trance upon her, never allowing her gaze to leave his body. How could she? Was there a way she could break the trance? She tried to use words to describe the new professor. _Broken_ was the only word that came to Velvet's mind. There he sat, right in the leather seat of a wheelchair.

She started from his face and traced his silhouette, lowering her eyes ever so slowly downwards. Faint scars covered his left cheek, while another scar found it's way onto the right side of his lips. She lowered her gaze further.

Trailing down the crimson scarf that covered his neck, down his ashen dress shirt and black vest, Velvet found the next _abnormality_.

He had both of his hands placed in front of him, planted on top of a bandaged cane. His left hand was resting on top of his right, exposing the evident lack of fingers. Three in total, all on his left hand. Velvet saw that he was missing his thumb, index, and middle finger. He tried his best to hide it by wrapping his hands with bandages, but to no avail.

Finally, Velvet's eyes traced down his sable colored dress pants, only to be met with _nothing._ In particular, the right side of his body. He was missing his right foot. How high the injury trailed up the remainder of his leg, Velvet didn't know. All she knew is that he had been through too much. And by the look of his physique, he was young.

"Ahem...", the professor said in a timid voice. Velvet jumped back a little before looking at his face. His pale complexion made the fact that he was blushing all the more evident. "Um...", said deterring his eyes away from her, too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. "It's not polite to stare," he managed to mutter to Velvet.

Velvet's eyes immediately went wide. She then steered her head towards the left side of the classroom, attempting to plead innocent by looking at an anatomy diagram strung up on the wall. Although, she found the new professor's reaction to her stares to be... cute? _"No! No, bad Velvet! Get those thoughts out of your head!"_ Velvet chastised to herself. They didn't even know each other's names, yet those thoughts still seeped into her head. Because despite this scars, Velvet saw that he was a beautifully tragic figure.

"I, uh...", he began to say, still uncomfortable with speaking to Velvet. His mind was scattered all over the place. Never before had anyone stared at him with such poised... interest, was it? It made him feel out of place, despite officially being a professor at the academy. But finally, he managed to formulate his jumbled thoughts into words and finally into a sentence. "I should probably start by introducing myself." Velvet's ears twitched with curiosity to the sound of his words. She could finally stop calling him "new professor" as it was hardly formal.

"I already know that your name Velvet Scarlatina and that you're my only student." Velvet looked at the professor with a stunned look on her face. He already knew, yet, he still felt uncomfortable talking to her. She could hear with her rabbit ears that his words ever so slowly, trembled out of his throat. They were smeared with an unnatural uneasiness. Still, he still could talk to her somewhat clearly.

"Not very surprising, seeing that many of these students are ambitious, albeit at varying degrees." Velvet simply responded to the professor's comment by tilting her head to the side in confusion. He noticed this and quickly began to reorganize his thoughts. "But I digress. My name is Abel. Abel Colli Pryderi."

 _"Abel... has a nice ring to it",_ Velvet said, repeating his name within her head. _"Wait, no! I should just call him Pryderi. Why am I calling him by his first name?"_ Velvet groaned quietly to herself. A tinge of bright red ever so slowly began to grow on her face. Abel looked at her, puzzled by her reaction. "Is anything the matter, Velvet?" The way that he said her first name so casually made her feel so timid and shy. Something that contrasted her personality greatly. She wasn't one who would be so flustered by her mere name. Yet, here she was, still staring at the wall in a vain attempt. Now for two reasons. The first being the way she stared at Abel. The second was now her trying to hide the blush that painted her face.

"Okay, well, uh...", Abel attempting to create a fluent conversation with his sole student. "Since it's just the two of us," Velvet's perked at the way he said the last three words. How did exactly did she feel about the scenario? Just a male and a female together, alone and isolated from everyone else for an hour. Well, that was putting it in a far blunter way. "I would prefer if you would not call me 'professor' or by my last name. I don't particularly like it when people try to be formal with me. So, would it be alright," Velvet felt her heart stop for a second. "If you could just call me Abel...?"

They weren't even done their first class. They weren't even halfway through her first class. Yet, here Velvet was, already on a first name basis with the new prof— no, Abel. To her, it was as if the entire world was put on pause in that single moment. Rephrasing her previous thoughts, it was a socially awkward professor, a very flustered student, both sharing a single class for an hour. Oh, and they were opposite genders, respectively.

Coco would kill to get the details of a story like that. If word got out, her only viable option was to wait out the storm. Velvet didn't want to be a part of the headlines for that story. She also assumed, based on his personality so far, that Abel would want that as well. _"Wait... I just said his first name... Oh somebody please help me. I'm dying on the inside,"_ Velvet thought, all the while whimpering to herself. She was already beginning to get into the habit of saying his first name. It was going to be a very, very long semester.

And yet, she felt an unusual connection with Abel. It was as if the two of them yearned for something, both with equal mania. But what exactly was it?

Unfortunately, she was pulled out of her thoughts by Abel before she could ponder any further. "So now that introductions are out of the way, I suppose that I should start teaching", Abel said, sounding as if he was both confident and excited. And truly, he was. He could finally get to the teaching a field that he was quite passionate about. It was like he was a child seemingly shooting off of the mouth, going on about what he loves. Velvet could sense this "childish" behavior reflect off of Abel's tone. He now seemed much more comfortable. And who was she to take that feeling away from him? She began nodding her head politely, all the while flashing Abel a warm smile. He faintly smiled back, which did surprise Velvet a bit. Though, she didn't think anything of his smile. Only that is was equally as warm as her own.

"In any case, let's begin."


	5. Peaking Curiosity

**"Curiosity is the lust of the mind"- Unknown**

* * *

Coco began biting her perfectly polished nails, all the while tapping her foot at the marble flooring at a rapid pace. Her foot was practically on par with Oobleck's spastic, caffeine-filled, personality. Even Oobleck's blitzes through the classroom weren't as fast as Coco. They both occupied the same classroom, so it wasn't hard for bystander nearby to compare the expediting duo with one another.

Just like Velvet, she had let her mind wander during the transition of classes. When she came to, she found herself friendless. It took her a few moments to finally realize that Velvet was, in fact, in the medical class. Deep down, Coco silently cursed to herself. She was never one to partake in such a "dull" class as medicine, but after the words that Port had told them in the previous class, it piqued her curiosity. Now, it was quite evident Coco didn't need to pry into businesses that weren't hers, however, it did regard her closest friend. And that didn't sit well with her. She was a human being after all, and just as susceptible to curiosity. Ironically, some could compare her to a cat in this scenario.

By this point, everything seemed to move much slower from Coco's point of view. Usually, it would be a frantic race to jot notes in Oobleck's class. And gods forbid from him getting his hands on anything remotely resembling an espresso. However, Coco actually wanted time itself to be just as fast as the professor. Her interest in the new professor was practically killing her. She had too many questions. None of them would be getting answered if she didn't get out this class. Right the hell now.

Finally, the bell signaled for the students to attend to their evergrowing hunger. But Coco wasn't exactly interested in eating. Immediately, she sprinted out of Oobleck's class and into the hallway. Her speed alone had even managed to leave Oobleck himself in a daze. She glanced first to the right and then to the left before a grim thought began to dawn on her. She had absolutely no idea where the new professor's class was. If it wasn't for her sunglasses, she would have facepalmed as hard as she could right there and then. Coco began cursing herself for not asking Velvet about the matter. Sure, she knew all of her teammate's quirks and habits, but even so, Velvet's whereabouts still eluded Coco. ' _Where is the new professor's class?'_ She should have asked instead of letting her mind wander earlier.

The campus of Beacon was also quite grand in its scale. From time to time make students full-on sprint towards their next class, in the hopes that they would not get punished. Alas, this task wasn't going to be a smooth "tour of the campus". Coco didn't even know where to begin her search. So when push came into shove which gave into relinquishment, she was going to have to do something that she hadn't done since she was a little girl. It was a task that required her to swallow her overgrown pride. She was going to have to ask a professor to divulge the location of "Velvet".

Coco made an audible sigh as the idea came into fruition in her mind. But she didn't want to waste any time just wondering about the campus. She didn't see much of a choice, whether or not she did hold herself in a high regard. So it was then decided, she was going to have to ask one of her superiors. Now it just became a question of "who". Coco started sifting through the possible candidates within her head. Port, would probably go on a full-blown nostalgic rant on how "he too became lost many a time when traversing the four kingdoms". Oobleck, was just in his class and probably couldn't give Coco clear cut directions. This left Glynda as Coco's best bet, seeing as asking for directions from the headmaster himself would be both a hassle and too much for Coco's pride to swallow.

And speaking of the devil's mistress herself, she rounded the corner just as Coco finalized that she was her best bet in finding the new professor. Coco approached Glynda in a rushed manner, catching her a bit off guard. "Excuse me, Professor Goodwitch", Coco spoke in a timid voice, contrasting her unabashed personality. "Do you mind telling me what classroom the new professor is in?"

Glynda was taken aback by Coco's unexpected question. This was the first question that Coco had ever asked anyone since her arrival at Beacon, as far as Glynda knew. Even she knew that Coco disliked the assistant of others, preferring to accomplish tasks on her lonesome. But even Glynda figured that everyone could use a little help, from time to time.

"Professor Pryderi is located not too far from here. I am under the assumption that you have just left Professor Oobleck's class, have you not?" Coco simply nodded her head in response to the question. "Then just continue down this hallway and turn left. At the far end, you will find Professor Pryderi's classroom."

Coco nodded, as she ran the directions she was told through her head. "Pryderi..." She thought to herself. It was an odd name, perhaps foreign? Or it could even be chalked up as an alien language. Still, the name gave her a vague idea as to who he was. But before she let her theories run wild, she put a leash on them, quelling them within her mind. Coco didn't want to assume anything, not when he was just a ten-minute walk away.

"Thank you miss Goodwitch," Coco said politely and sincerely; but she still diverted her eyes from her peer's. Once again, Glynda raised an eyebrow, questioning whether or not this was really the Coco she taught throughout the school year. Though, she didn't have enough time to humor the thought before her scroll ringed. Glynda simply nodded her head before looking at her scroll and continuing to walk to her destination, albeit at a much quicker pace. Coco, on the other hand, recited the directions Glynda gave her. She then began making her way through the halls. Counting each door as she based by them, she finally stood at the end of the hall, right in front of a crimson, wooden door. It was a rather unusual door, as it required a sliding motion to open it, rather than a push or pull motion.

Coco reached for the handle, but then stopped. She was so frantic and rushed in her previous actions, that she did not have time to think about what to say or do when she finally reached her desired location. _"What to say... What to say..?"_ She thought to herself, only this time it was audible to her ears. She was so nervous that she was talking to herself.

Breathing rhythmically, she managed to calm herself. Closing her eyes, she sifted through her mind for an answer, or perhaps an excuse. Opening her eyes to the crimson door, Coco then reached for the door handle. She was going to peer through the door, nothing scandalous or anything. She was going to do it in a quick fashion, to begin with. But right as Coco reached for the handle, the door flung open by itself, followed by a familiar voice.

"Coco?"


	6. The Gawk Within The Silence

**"Silence can sometimes be louder than noise** " **\- Unknown**

* * *

Coco felt her whole body freeze over, mid-action. She became the epitome of all winter fronts, even besting Atlas in temperature. She felt her blood run cold and felt a single sweat pour out her forehead. A refreshing feeling, really. It had been quite some time that Coco had felt this way. She's never acted so jitter-like and conflicted and curious about a singular thing. It was all new to her. Minus the awkwardness, of course. That, she tried to bury in her past.

Velvet stared in disbelief, blink once, maybe twice. She had to double-check if this was the reality she belonged in. Completely frozen in place stood Coco, for some reason. Neither girls were expecting to see one another until the lunch hour. Respectively, it was lunch, but this scenario wasn't exactly what the girls had in mind. Velvet took a mixture of an awestruck and analytical look at Coco. She genuinely questioned whether or not this was indeed her team leader. The leader who took charge of her, Yatsuhashi, and Fox since their initiation at Beacon. That woman was filled with confidence and pride; but above all, she had quite the judgemental eye in fashion. The Coco that appeared in front of her was a complete contrast of that free-spirited woman. Disheveled, in a panicked state, and above all, awkward. Velvet tried to speak but no words came from her throat. The silence seemed to hang itself over both girls.

Closing his leather briefcase in his lap, filled with too many papers to count, he leaned into the seat of his wheelchair and sighed. Elisa was supposed to go and get him, but she was delicately late; by ten minutes. A small smile crept onto Abel's face. She would always be fashionably late, no matter what the occasion or how hard she tried to be there on time. It always amused Abel.

He sighed as he pulled out his pocket watch and stared at the hands revolving around the timepiece. The rhythmic ticking was all that filled the air of the classroom. Abel always did enjoy the silence. It gave him a sense of peace and clarity. Though, this silence was different. There was a certain thick and sullen coating in the air that the silence dwelled in. Abel couldn't quite put his finger on the feeling. He tried to think of words to describe it. He tilted his head and thought upon it, before furrowing his brows in dismay. _Stiff_ was the only word that seemed to describe the air. But, why did the air feel this way?

Abel looked towards the doorway, only to see Velvet frozen completely in place. He raised his eyebrow in confusion as he looked at Velvet's picturesque, statue-like frame. He began to lean in a multitude of directions in his wheelchair, but alas, he could not peer past Velvet's tall frame (ears included) to see what was beyond his classroom's door. But whatever laid beyond the vale of Velvet's figure seemingly stopped her dead in her tracks. Abel had heard Velvet say something before she froze, though he was too pre-occupied with cleaning up his paperwork. He took a deep breath before opening his mouth, effectively shattering the silence like glass.

"Miss Scarla-uh, Velvet, is everything alright?"

Velvet didn't want to feel "special" so she allowed Abel to call her by her first name. Neither of them wanted to be formal with one another, which led to the consensus of calling each other by their first names.

Velvet was absolutely startled by Abel's sudden gesture of concern. She had been entranced within her own thoughts of Coco, that she didn't even realize how long she had been frozen for. She was completely caught off guard, with her face flushing red and her brown eyes widening. But the reaction of surprise was more evident in Coco's face.

Plastered all over Coco's face was pure shock. Never before had any of the professors spoken to Velvet in such a casual way. Not Port, Oobleck, Peach, Glynda, or Ozpin had ever addressed Velvet by her first name. Miss Scarlatina was what they referred to her as. But this, it was strange, to say the very least. She didn't know what to do. Should she retort something to the new "professor", though Velvet might have seen him to be more than that.

 _"No, no Coco. That's not the Velvet I know. She wouldn't allow for him to call her like that, right?"_ Coco attempted to flush those kinds of thoughts out of her head, but new ones began to flood in, effectively replacing the previous ones. The seed of curiosity and doubt had already begun to grow within her mind. " _Perhaps it was a slip-up. Maybe the professor just made a mistake in calling her by her first name. But, he was going to say her last name before correcting himself... Why am I thinking so hard about the way he talks? Ugh, Velvet's been really growing on me."_

There was no rational reason as to why the new professor had addressed Velvet so casually; not that Coco could think of. The most plausible reason for this scenario was that Velvet allowed him to say her name. But even then, Coco couldn't see Velvet doing that. The image of Velvet allowing it didn't even register in Coco's mind. So one did not need to be overly intelligent to guess Coco's reaction when Velvet finally replied back.

"Uh, yeah. I'm just a little startled Professor Pryd—er, Abel. But I'm okay."

 _"Abel... Abel?!"_ Coco's motherly instincts immediately kicked in, and she wanted to scream while charging that this "Abel" figure. She had to bit down on her bottom lip to control her mixed emotions of surprise and rage. The first method of murder that came to mind in Coco's mind was strangulation. It would definitely stop "Abel" from talking to Velvet ever again. She began to pivot her footing into the marble flooring. Velvet saw what her body posture entailed and immediately knew what she was going to do. Coco was going to rush into the classroom and probably murder Abel.

She always seemed to be a bit protective of her teammates and vice versa. Though, Velvet always seemed to be "overly"-protected by her teammates. She knew their vigilant tendencies were a result of the constant abuse she received due to her Faunus heritage. But this reaction was completely uncalled for. Abel had done nothing to offend her. Coco's behavior had to be stopped.

Velvet slid her body to the middle of the doorway and pivoted. She tucked her textbooks into her chest, creating a box-like posture. Coco saw what she was trying to do and gritted her teeth in annoyance. She was trying to block her. A noble act, but she was defending a criminal. Both girls locked eyes with one another, determination filling both of their brown iris'. Velvet began to shake her left and right hastily, trying to diffuse Coco's enmity. Coco responded back simply by cracking her right hand's knuckles.

Abel had turned his wheelchair to face Velvet. He squinted slightly, trying to decipher what was happening at his classroom door. He was never quite good at social interaction himself, nevermind trying to understand others' actions. Though he still had a decent amount of common sense in him, and he figured out that Velvet was in some kind of conflict. " _An_ argument _, maybe?"_ was Abel's first thought.

But even then, couldn't figure out why she was in a "fight" in the first place. She was a shy girl, but Abel could tell that she was truly kind. So why was she planted in place in such a defensive stance? Not opting to assume the scenario in front of his eyes, Abel used his voice to formulate words instead of using his mind to do so.

"Velvet, are you sure? I, I don't mean to pry but-um, you look rather... strange."

Velvet, on pure reflex, turned around to look at Abel to assure him that everything was fine. But as soon as she turned her head to the left for a split second, she realized her fatal mistake. Coco took the meager yet pivotal opportunity to shove Velvet to the side, as gently as her enraged motherly state would allow, and dashed into the classroom at inhuman speeds. However, she didn't account for one of motion's more "forgiving" attributes; friction. While Coco had "pushed" Velvet to the side, she incidentally knocked out Velvet's textbooks and homework papers onto the floor. Right beneath Coco's footing. She also misjudged how close Abel was to Velvet, approximately two feet. Coco's sprint had managed to close a distance of a foot in less than a second. This combination made Coco immediately fall face first. Right into Abel's chest, effectively knocking the both of them onto the ground.

Coco groaned in a mixture of annoyance and pain. Her eyelids were shut tight, leaving her mind trying to process what had happened. She had fallen, she knew that much. But, she hadn't fallen onto the cold, smooth, and hard marble floor. Instead, she had landed on something that felt warm, course, and soft, but also... Flesh-like?! Her eyes sprung open in shock as she simultaneously looked up. A small gasp escaped from her lips. Coco's panicked dark brown eyes were met with soft and pang-filled sapphire eyes.

Abel didn't have a single clue as to what hit him. Everything had happened so quickly. For one moment, he was leaning to the left in his wheelchair, trying to peek past Velvet. The next moment had him pinned on the ground by something on his chest. Abel groaned aloud but kept it quiet. Ever so slowly, he began to open his eyes to see what was on his chest. A small gasp was heard by Abel before he fully opened his eyelids. Abel's blurred vision was met with dark brown orbs that stared into his sapphire ones. It took a little bit before Abel could process what was on him, or rather, who. Brown hair, dark brown eyes, there was no mistake. It was Velvet's leader, Coco Adel. But what was she doing there, on his chest of all things?!

Abel's face flushed red from embarrassment. This was hardly the way for people to be introduced to one another. The last thing he wanted to happen was for a student to get the absolute wrong impression about him. He also didn't want to deal with the "unnecessary" attention he would receive if a single word about this incident were ever to leave his classroom. Abel tried to move and free himself from Coco's grasp, but he couldn't. Not just because of his crippled body, but also because of Coco's eyes. He could bring himself to pry his eyes off of them.

Neither Abel or Coco would dare to be the first to move. All of time had been halted as the duo continued to stare. The only sound that could be heard were faint slips of breath between the two, but that began to slowly cease as silence began to dawn on the pairing. It began to ring and echo in both of their ears, and still neither were able to muster the courage to move.

It all seemed to stay this way for what felt like an eternity, but once again was broken by a singular noise. This time, however, it came from outside the classroom. Abel jumped slightly and immediately ripped his eyes off of Coco's. Hastily, he leaned to the left to peer past Coco's face. He lightly winced, expecting to see either Port or Oobleck. But the gasp sounded very feminine. Abel shut his eyes tightly and began to silently pray. " _No. no please no. Anybody but her. Please don't let it be Glynda. By the gods, don't let it be_ — _!"_

Abel then forced his eyes open, albeit with some resistance, and looked at the doorway. He sighed in relief as he saw it was only Elisa, who had finally come to pick him up. While he was met with reprieval, Elisa was met with shock, as Abel had just confirmed her fears. Her face flushed crimson as she stared at the marble floor between her brown, leather dress shoes. She quietly began to twindle with her thumbs, before looking back up with a new emotion plastering onto her face. Elisa's golden eyes stared daggers at Abel. He quickly took a look at himself before meeting Elisa's wrathful eyes once again.

"I—er, can explain?"


	7. Luna's Umbra

**"My best dreams and my worst nightmares have the same people in them" - Unknown**

* * *

Sitting atop his dorm room bed, Abel hesitantly brought the frigid ice pack he held in his right hand to his cheek. His once pale right cheek was now tainted with a crimson handprint, resulting from Elisa's wrath. She did not care about the events that had led to Coco _being on_ Abel's chest, all she cared for was the fact that Coco _was_ _on_ Abel's chest. Timing, fate? Perhaps a concoction of the two; though it did not matter.

Frosted droplets began to drip down of Abel's face. His cheek no longer stung, for it had grown deathly numb to the bone. He couldn't even feel the small frozen pours of the pack completely melt off his cheek, and drop to the ground. _Drip, drip, drip._ Its ever-so-faint sound echoed as it drenched the wooden floor. The noise was picked up by Abel's acute senses and began to ring in his ears, signaling that the treatment was taking effect.

After a few moments of the ever-growing sound of dreary dripping and the everlasting feeling of numbed nerves, Abel peeled the ice pack from his face; it's frosting clinging desperately to his face. Abel winced and braced himself as he gave it one last tug to free himself from its brisk embrace. Though he could not feel anything, this reaction was merely on impulse and natural reflexes. Not wanting the embrace of the pack to clasp his skin once more, Abel quickly threw the ice pack onto his nightstand. He sighed deeply as he began to gently caress his right cheek with his fingertips, wishing that he could have thrown the pack a little farther away.

Icing wounds, even if they may be minor, always miffed Abel. Despite his quite pale complexion and being a prisoner of a wheelchair, Abel loved the summer's embrace. The sun's warmth, the breathtaking views of the country, the memories of children laughing giddily. He loved all of these aspects of summer dearly. Oh, how he yearned to relive the memories of the past.

He felt his eyelids begin to grow heavier by the second. Exhaustion began to drown his senses. Its source derived from the hectic day, in its entirety, taking its toll on Abel. He yawned and covered his open mouth with his right hand. The shattered moon hung high in the night sky, its diving light piercing through the dorm's crimson curtains. _"Not too bad of a day after all,"_ Abel thought to himself.

He swung his legs from the floorboards to atop his bed sheets in one swift motion. Twisting his body into a comfortable position, Abel sank his head into the pillow that was anxiously waiting for him. He gave the clock on his nightstand a quick glance. Ten o'clock, exactly on the mark. Abel let out a quiet sigh (fortunately, it would be the last one of the day). Morning person or not, he would have to begrudgingly have to wake up at 4 o'clock, an hour earlier than any of his fellow peers. Suffering from his injuries not only made Abel miss three of his fingers and a foot, but he also tended to miss a few hours of sleep to tend to his work.

 _"6 hours... I'll make it,"_ he thought to himself in an attempt to quell his mind. Not that it would matter. Sleep ensnared itself over Abel's body, and he wasn't going to fight it. Slowly his mind began to drift into the nothingness of the subconscious mind. But that so-called "nothingness" was little more than a facade; for behind the tell-tale dreams that the Sandman sprinkles into the mind, a latent nightmare laid still. It had hidden within the cracks of a past that had ceased to exist. Now it had oversaturated the cracks and began to leak into Abel's dreams.

 _Drip, drip, drip._


	8. Forsaken and Forgotten

**"Deep breath before the plunge" - Unknown**

* * *

 _"Three..."_

"Three?"

 _"Yes... Three."_

"What the hell are you talking about? Who is this?"

 _"Three... That is your name."_

"Excuse me?"

 _"Three is your name. Three times have you tried. And three times have you failed."_

"What are you—"

 _"Wake up. Wake up. Do you not remember your burden?"_

"It is to keep _it_ ticking, is it not?"

 _"...Very well. If that is your chosen fate, then so be it."_

* * *

The Masionette chasséd into the frozen dessert, and the Sadslinger stumbled after him.

It was the apotheosis of all winter fronts. Frosted to its touch, numb to its victims; unforgiving to its forsaken and forgotten guests. The sky's iced tears stretched out—for what seemed to be an eternity—in all four directions. Nonetheless, the Sadslinger continued to drunkenly trudge deeper and deeper into the abyss-like landscape.

He couldn't remember how long it had been since he started his trek. A few days; weeks? Perhaps even a month. It all seemed to blur together in a distant mirage of memories. Though, he assumed that it had only been a few weeks. His rations had yet to run out completely, though the Sadslinger continued to ever-so-slowly tiptoe towards the edge of Death's veil as each second passed. Starving, yes. His moaning stomach was the sole source of his fatigue. Did he care? He tried his best not to. His body constantly screamed out in pain, begging him to rest for a short while. Perhaps then he could finish the half-eaten rabbit breast gradually becoming stale in his pouch.

 _"This would have been much easier if I were a holy man,"_ the Sadslinger thought to himself. Holy men could fast for weeks, maybe even a whole month if the gods would bless them with "divine immunity and celestial impunity".

As he thought of these things, he unknowingly had clutched a small, silver cross necklace that swung rhythmically just below his collarbone. It was a gift, given to him by the last small village he had passed through while on his journey. Pandorium, was its name? They recognized the Sadslinger's scent, bastardized blood, and decided consensually to give him a blessing in the form of materialistic antiques. Despite the barbs of the (neck)lace creating irritation on the Sadslinger's neck, he wore it anyway.

Holy? Not by any stretch of the imagination. Nostalgic? Perhaps that was a better word to describe his odd attachment to such a trinket.

Just then, the Sadslinger heard a strange mixture of a cry and whimper resonating in the frigid winds. He stopped dead (though, he considered himself to be in such a state) in his tracks. It was neither his stomach that cried out to him nor was it an animal's cry off in the distance. In fact, the Sadslinger had not seen any indication of life ever since he left Pandorium. This was no animal, but it sure as hell sounded animalistic.

The Sadslinger closed his indigo eyes and focused in on the cry. His breaths became quiet and quick, evident by the short wisps of frosted fog emanating from his mouth. The cry no longer became reminiscent of animalistic endeavors. It was now _demonic_.

Screeches and howls drubbed the silence in the winter air. Whatever unholy being was creating the damnable cry was laying still, perhaps in wait. It was close, that much was known to the Sadslinger.

Thoughts and wishes began to fill his mind. _He didn't want to fight._ His body was dealing with enough shit as it stood. Lack of sleep, hunger, and being a stubborn pessimist all culminated to create the Sadslinger's strife. _He didn't want to fight._ The Sadslinger didn't have the right means to finish off something that shouldn't have even been started. _He didn't want to fi_ —

 _"Oh dear, oh dear. What seems to be the matter? Making excuses for your romantic and stupid obsession?"_ the Masionette began to taunt within the Sadslinger's mind.

His indigo eyes shot open at attention. A vivified aura began to flood his irises, shifting and saturating it into a sapphire-like shade. But it was only for a brief moment. Soon, the once gleaming eyes of the Sadslinger became inanimate and dead; just as it once was and how he was used to.

"Fuck you..." the Sadslinger whispered aloud, seemingly to both the frosted front and to the Masionette.

 _"Ah, but deep down, you know I'm right. You always have done this, time and time again without fail. You are like a dog that loves to fetch his whimsical stick. Adorable, but only for the first hundred times,"_ the Masionette continued to say, tittering with each passing word. The Sadslinger clenched his teeth and growled in annoyance.

"I thought I told you to shut the fuck up..." the Sadslinger snarled.

 _"Actually, if I recall correctly, you told me to 'fuck you'. Though, I didn't think that you were both incestuous and homosexual. I'll add that onto your resume,"_ the Masionette quipped. Twisting and ripping and sowing back together words to fit his own needs was one of the Masionette's many talents. He considered himself to be quite the virtuoso in this aspect. Though, the Sadslinger did not care for his so-called "poetic art". He did, however, care for how the Masionette's voice would not silence itself, despite his blunt and quite audible memos.

"I said **shut. The. Fuck. Up!"** the Sadslinger yelled furiously. He began to pant heavily and felt his stomach churn, demanding his throat to give way and assist in dry heaving whatever remains miraculously laid untouched in the Sadslinger's barren stomach.

After panting for a short while, he slowly began to inhale through his nose and exhale through his mouth. A petty attempt to calm himself down, but it still had managed to soothe him all the same. He could still feel his heart beat against the decrepit walls of his ribcage. He still could hear his heartbeats "thumping" loudly in his head, practically pounding against his eardrums. Despite all of this, he still could hear the demonic screech and feel its pulses cut through the air, and ripple on his now pale skin.

 _"You know what to do. Go on ahead. Fetch your stick."_

The Sadslinger began to bite his lower lip with his fanged tooth. He clenched harder and tighter on his lip as each cry pounded against his ears. Soon, blood began to pour out from the gash he had created. Half of the blood began to drip off of his quivering lip and taint the blank snow with crimson blood. The other half pooled into the Sadslinger's mouth. The taste began to flood the Sadslinger's senses momentarily before he refocused on the noise. _So sweet... So intoxicating._

 **"RAWWW—!"**

"Just over the horizon," the Sadslinger whispered aloud. This time, it was to winter frontier, the Masionette, and to himself. "It's just over the horizon. It's just wailing. Over and over again."

 _"Good. Now, why don't you go shut it 'fuck' up?"_ the Masionette whispered as he drenched himself in the ecstasy of every word.

Slowly, and without opening his eyes, the Sadslinger felt his feet drag against the fallen snowflakes. He could not feel his once so passionate wrath. He could not even feel what would be described as apathy. Nothingness, that was he felt now. His mind was blank now, no longer flooded with the voice of the Masionette, or his own thoughts, or wishes.

Each step was accompanied by the sound of snow crunching and shuffling below his feet. But the sound of snow evaded the Sadslinger's ears, as it was drowned out by the raucous and far more frantic screeches. "A few more feet..." he uttered.

The Sadslinger opened his eyes and indigo instantly met black. A kind of sickening black that could swallow the entirety of the winter plains. For the first time, and only for a brief moment, the Sadslinger felt as if his soul had been raped by the black eyes of the beast. Immediately, the Sadslinger pried his eyes away from the gaze of the beast. He quietly inhaled, mustering the courage to look at the beast once more.

It was hunched forward and had a bull's skull encasing its own. The left horn had been snapped off like a twig, while the right horn remained seemingly unblemished. It had grey skin that wrapped and ensnared itself onto the flesh of the beast, taking the phrase "skin-tight" far too literal. It had no muscle or fat, just all skeleton and strands of flesh covering its body. The Sadslinger could practically see the totality of the beast's ribcage beneath its chest and every bone interlocking with one another in its arms and legs. It had crooked and bent claws on its hands and feet. Despite the beast's posture being skewered and its slender physique, the Sadslinger figured that it was five feet taller than him, in the very least.

Heavy clouds of breath began to pour out from the nostrils of the bull's skull. The beast straightened its back and let out of roar with unworldly power and ferocity, it pushed the Sadslinger's unbraced body back a foot before abruptly ending. Stunned and in disarray, the Sadslinger stumbled back, attempting to gain his balance once again. He rubbed his eyes with his left hand's thumb and index finger before squinting in the general direction of the beast. A slender, large, and grey blur was all the Sadslinger's eyes could see, nothing "beast-like" or of the sort. He rubbed his eyes harder, in both a frenzy and annoyance as he could hear loud ringings in his ears.

 _"How the hell did it push me back?!"_ the Sadslinger thought as he clenched his teeth. He looked back up with—refreshed eyes— and saw the beast's back straighten once again. His eyes widened before shutting tightly closed. He linked his arms in an "x" pattern to shield his face as he shifted his right leg back and pivoted on it. He felt his body tense up before the roar stuck his body. The beast roared with just as much force as before, however, the Sadslinger was prepared this time and did not falter. Though, he could not feel the effects of the roar as strongly as before, but it still took its toll on his body. He shook his head side to side to clear his sinuses of the roar as best he could.

After his mind cleared and his ears stopped ringing, the Sadslinger dropped his defensive stance and let his arms fall to their respective sides indifferently. He looked back at the beast, indigo clashing with black once again. Only this time, the Sadslinger did not immediately break his gaze with the beast. He stared intensely into the void-like eyes as all of time around the two seemed to pause.

Shattering the trance cast upon the two, the Sadslinger exhaled heavily and averted his eyes to the blank sky. He stared callously as the heavens opened and began to pour snow onto the plains. Soft snowflakes brushed against his pale skin before melting and falling onto the ground. For the first time in an eternity, the Sadslinger felt a spark of bliss in his soul but soon it began to fade. Even though it was only a fleeting feeling, it still was rejuvenating to him all the same.

Slowly, he looked back down and glared fiercely at the beast, his eyes now a menacing sapphire shade. This time, the beast was the one who cringed and split their gazes. Taken aback by a sudden feeling of fear, it pivoted its left leg in trepidation. Finally, the Sadslinger spoke to the beast.

"Be thankful I kill you now. I spare you from an eternity of damnation..."


	9. Gnawing Against the Flesh

**"But man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself" - Rachel Carson**

* * *

The beast lunged at the forward, bearing its serrated crimson stained teeth at the Sadslinger. Its abyssal black eyes were now filled to the brim with pure animalistic bloodlust. It was fast, its speed practically blinding the untrained eye, as faded seemingly in and out of existence itself. Even the sound of snow crunching and folding beneath its feet couldn't keep up with the true speed of the beast.

 _Crunch, crunch, crunch._

Immediately upon hearing the snow being compressed, the Sadslinger found himself face to face with the beast. In a fraction of a second, it had closed the distance between itself and the Sadslinger. The beast thrust its claws forward and pry open its jaws, not allowing its skeletal structure to restrict its atrocious intent. Fresh saliva began to spew out immediately. The small droplets of water and mucus spiraled downward and fell onto the snow. It then began to rot and twist the pure powder into the same color as the beast's eyes, a sickening black.

The Sadslinger eyes widened in shock and awe. He had never suspected that the beast would have so much strength hidden within its malnourished looking body. Then again, looks can be deceiving to the naive eye, especially when the winter is a front in and of itself.

He snapped himself out of his naive bewilderment and refocused his thoughts on the incoming attack. Allowing instinct to guide his actions, he dug and pivoted his right leg in the snow behind him, while he simultaneously put both of his hands in front of him. The Sadslinger gripped the beast's wrists with all the willpower his soul could muster. The crooked and demented claws were mere inches away from his gouging out the Sadslinger's eyes. He clenched his teeth as he was almost instantly overwhelmed by—what felt like—the strength of ten full-fledged hunters.

Upon feeling the extraordinary amount of resistance its prey was putting up, the beast growled vehemently and exposed the totality of its teeth mere inches away from the Sadslinger's face. It unhooked its jaw bones to their fullest capacity and thrust its neck forward. The beast aimed sharply at the Sadslinger's face, readying itself to taste the flesh and blood of men once again.

Sensing the newfound danger that poised at his face, the Sadslinger threw his neck to his right, narrowly dodging the fangs of the beast. He felt beads of saliva drip themselves upon his left shoulder. He thanked the gods for the cloak that shielded his body from the neck to his forefeet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that his once grey tattered cloak was being soaked in the sickening black saliva of the beast, twisting it to the same putrid color.

Still wrestling with the beast's claws, the Sadslinger forced his footing deeper into the snow only to feel that the snow beneath him was somehow... different. For a brief moment, he peered past the beast's frantic and thrashing body and narrowed his gaze towards the ground. To his horror, he saw tracks drag across the snow and connect to where he was now.

The Sadslinger realized what had happened and how careless he had been. The beast, during its ravenous bite, had made Sadslinger instinctually refocus his efforts to dodging its teeth, effectively giving it a small window for its claws to inch ever so closer to his body. He had been lucky though. The beast had only managed to push him back. However, the Sadslinger noticed that the beast's claws were slightly closer than before. There was no possible way the Sadslinger could juggle between dodging the beast's teeth and keep its vicious claws at bay.

Sooner (than expected) or later (as fate could sometimes be "merciful") the Sadslinger would find himself without eyes or without a face.

Just then, the beast thrust its neck forward once again. Now aware of his precarious and deadlier situation, the Sadslinger gritted his teeth and silently cursed as he forced his neck to the left, once again, narrowly dodging the fangs of the teeth; once again feeling the oozing black saliva fall onto his shoulder. This time, he felt the snow beneath his footing give way. Adrenaline rushed throughout his entire body accompanied by hushed panic. One misstep or inability to react fast enough was all it would take for his life to come to an abrupt and gory end. Even then, it was only a matter of time before the Sadslinger were to be overwhelmed by the pure strength of the beast.

Putting distance between the two was all the Sadslinger needed to turn the tides in his favor.

Growing irritated by how stubborn his prey was, the beast started to become more ferocious, frantic even. One, twice, thrice it attempted to bite into the sweetening flesh of the Sadslinger. In all of its attempts, it was denied the sweetening and intoxicating taste of fresh, crimson blood. The Sadslinger simply kept alternating his movements to counteract the ravenous bites. Far too blinded by its own rage and instinct, the beast did not think to break its predictable pattern in an effort to try and catch the Sadslinger off guard. Perhaps then a quick meal would find its way into its stomach sooner.

But it was not like this mattered anyway. The beast could feel the Sadslinger's grip on its wrists loosen ever so slightly. It was only a matter of time before its claws would pierce the Sadslinger's glimmering sapphire eyes. Though the beast would ideally not want to skewer its dessert first, it was a small price to pay. It wanted this quarry dead, no, it _needed_ it dead. There was _something_ behind the allure of the struggling and desperate man. _Something_ that it just could not see. But again, it was not like it mattered. The man would be a feast to fill its belly and nothing more. And so states the rule of nature, and as such, the beast would take another bite. And another after that.

The Sadslinger cursed to himself every single time the beast tried to take a chunk of flesh off his body. Left, right, left right. A simple pattern for him to predict, but he had no way of countering it. _Distance_. His hands were preoccupied with keeping the claws at bay. _Distance_. His feet were digging themselves in the freshly fallen snow in a vain attempt to create traction. _Distance_.

Suddenly a thought emerged from the Sadslinger's frantic mind. A counter to create distance! It was risky and would require him to time his movements perfectly. However, it was not like he had much of a choice. The beast's claws were now only a mere breath away from gouging out his eyes. _"This would have been much easier if I were a holy man",_ the Sadslinger thought grimly.

Right before the beast's fangs were upon him once again, the Sadslinger made his counter. In a defiant (or desperate) act, the Sadslinger loosened his footing entirely and jumped back a few feet, still holding onto the beast's wrists. For a brief moment, it created a small but noticeable gap between the two.

The beast was so enticed in its own lust for the Sadslinger, it was caught completely off guard by the sudden shift in balance. It began to fall forward ever so slowly, its mouth still hung ajar and pooling out blackened saliva onto the snow. But it was now in open not only in hunger but as well as shock.

After getting the beast to begin to fall forward, the Sadslinger clenched his teeth and sucked a breath of the frigid air. _"Here goes nothing... or everything..."_

The Sadslinger, in a feat of superb agility, performed a backflip, still linked to the beast's wrists. Outstretching his right forefoot, the Sadslinger used the momentum of his flip to kick the jaw of the beast, effectively snatching it shut. The beast's eyes shot open briefly before immediately shutting closed in pain. The Sadslinger heard faint crunching sounds that were not his own. He had effectively broken some of the beast's fangs.

With his body at a sixty-degree angle off the ground, the Sadslinger used his left foot to kick off the beast's right shoulder while he simultaneously let go of the beast's wrists, effectively pushing himself and the beast backward. The Sadslinger gracefully finished his backflip and landed ten feet away from the beast whereas it fell onto its spine with a snow crushing thud.

Both the beast and the Sadslinger were panting heavily and as they were coated in frosted sweat. The Sadslinger slouched forward and gripped his thighs. His long jet black and snow white hair (which was tied up in a crimson ribbon) fell in front of his sapphire eyes. In his temporary blind state, a voice whispered in the Sadslinger's mind. This voice. It was _its_ voice!

 _"Get up three. Get up. Remember your burden."_

Still stagnant, the Sadslinger lifted his head and saw that the beast was beginning to rise again. He sighed, knowing that his fight was not over. Straightening out his back, he gripped the bandages that covered over his arm. He then began to unravel them, leaving strings of gauze floating down towards the snow. The Sadslinger's arm was equal, if not more pale than his face. It had faint bite marks running along its forearm. But they were not caused by any beast. They looked to be from a human's.

The beast stared at the Sadslinger as the man was unraveling his bandages. It did not understand why the Sadslinger was doing this, but there was a foreboding feeling in the air that surrounded the two. The beast bore its teeth once again, despite a couple being broken or shattered by the earlier kick.

Something was coming. But what? That was beginning to scare the beast.

When his arm was finally free from the shackles of gauze, the Sadslinger brought his forearm to his now open mouth. Slowly, he sunk his teeth into the appendage. He did not wince, nor did he hesitate. It appeared as if he was _indifferent_.

The beast was now back standing on its hind legs. It had seen what the Sadslinger had done. Slowly, the beast began to growl, knowing full well that its prey hadn't done this without reason. It had heard the noise. It was louder than the heavy breathes the two took. When the Sadslinger had bit down on his forearm, it did not have the same sound as flesh. No, it was a _hollow_ noise that resonated in the air. That arm... it was fake.

The Sadslinger took a step back with his right leg, still holding his forearm in his mouth. He began to pull his forearm off, hearing and feeling the twisting and ripping beneath his "flesh". Breath in, breath out.

"I remember my burden well."

With that, the Sadslinger unsheathed his weapon.


	10. The Sickening Gift

**"It is not the oath that makes us believe the man, but the oath the man" - Aeschylus**

* * *

A rapid flurry of gunshots immediately resonated and rung out in the thick frosted air. Nine-millimeter brass shells dimly glimmered as they were vomited out from their chamber and disappeared in the sea of snow. The beast flung its entire body to the left, in a vain attempt to evade the oncoming fire. But the bullets had pierced through the air too quickly and ripped through its body sharply.

The very same sickening black shade took on new forms as ooze and puss, not blood. The concoction of the two fluids began to spill out from the beast's torso ever so slowly. It let out an audible hiss and clenched its fangs, or whatever remained of the shattered pieces.

The deafening, almost therapeutic sound of gunfire had ceased, signaled by a faint _click_. Panting from the adrenaline rush, the beast began to take a series of deep breaths in an attempt to calm itself. Its vision was slightly hazy from both the adrenaline and pain, but could turn a blur into a physical shape.

A barrel. But not a wooden one that men used to store their wine, oil, or dust shards. No, it was the barrel of a gun.

Where flesh and bone would be or even hollowed plastic, there now was a barrel and a body of a gun. Cold steel masked in a bright shade of silver glimmered with the white purity of the snow. The Sadslinger stared blankly at the beast, noticing the black ooze paint over the fur on the beast's body. How sickening the color was to him. But if he had to fill the pale winter abyss with its sickness, then so be it.

 _"Fifty rounds per magazine. Seven hundred and fifty rounds per minute. Approximately two and a half seconds to reload,"_ the Sadslinger thought carefully to himself.

 _"Two and a half seconds..."_ He found his mind snag onto the last phrase—no, fact—that he mentally mentioned to himself. He subconsciously let his mouth fall open slightly as he ran the very same words in his head one last time. Afterward feeling his mind drag out the "s", he closed his eyes and lightly sighed. But slowly, a small and quite grim smile began to curl onto his face.

 _"Guess I've slowed down a bit,"_ he thought bitterly to himself.

 _"Indeed you have. Oh, I'm sorry. Did you say 'bit'? Now that would be an understatement."_

The Masionette wasn't wrong. His voice alone was enough to annoy the Sadslinger. However, it was far more agitating to him because he knew the Masionette wasn't wrong.

In his younger days, the Sadslinger was able to reload at blinding speeds, whether it be reloading individual brass-cased bullets into a clip or jamming an entire magazine into a rifle. Though, he was never one to brag upon it or show it off carelessly. He showed no pride in his gunmanship; in fact, it had been a while since he ever had felt such a childish emotion.

Whenever he would reload at such absurd speeds, he would feel a brief but intense stinging at his skin, as if it was set ablaze. After finishing the ritualistic cycle of cramming bullets into a chamber, there would be blisters and burn marks that tainted his fingertips.

Despite the stinging and burning sensation that would occupy his fingers for weeks, he still would have preferred it over his now sluggish and trembling dominant hand.

Gods, when did he become so careless and clumsy? Two and a half seconds. Would it be fast enough? Sure, to the Sadslinger it felt like an eternity in his aging hands, but would the beast think it to be slow as well?

Another gamble then. He had no other choice.

A plan for close quarters combat barely crossed his mind. He already knew it wasn't a viable strategy. The beast may have had over a dozen bullets lodged in its torso (twenty-three, from what the Sadslinger could count), but it was still standing on its hind legs. There was no way of predicting the true capabilities of his opponent. Its twisted and malnourished looking body was a mere facade, and "sizing it up" would be meaningless.

Experience would be the only way to learn of the beast's true capabilities.

 _"Let's cast the die and see if lady luck favors you yet again,"_ the Masionette quipped while clicking his tongue to resemble the sound of dice rolling.

The Sadslinger inhaled sharply and threw the bottom half of his grey cloak behind his body. He kept his eyes fixated on the beast, with both caution and murderous intent. It still hadn't processed what the Sadslinger was doing. Nonetheless, it would be foolishly naive to avert his eyes. He felt his fingers brush against a worn but usable magazine. Immediately, he wrapped his fingers around the plastic rectangle.

One second.

The beast was still attempting to overcome the pain and stop the overflow of adrenaline. Its ears had a deafening ring inside them; fiery pain engulfed most of its torso; it began to taste the black ooze flood its mouth. This taste. How sugary and sweet it was in its mouth. Was this the taste of mortality?

 **No. Oh no.**

 **No—!**

All of the nine circles in Hell would freeze over before it would die to this quarry. None had survived its animalistic and untamed wrath. What made this one so different from the rest?!

Oh, how soon it would taste the man's own mortality in its mouth. It snarled and revealed its fang underneath its mask, almost as if it was sadistically smiling.

Two seconds.

A rush of breath escaped the lips of the Sadslinger. Both coincidentally and cruelly, another thing had escaped his grasp: the magazine. He was forced to discard it for the bayonet tucked in a sheath on the left side of his ribs. He clutched and yanked the hilt away from his body, not caring whether or not the blade unsheathed itself or not.

 _It all happened far too quickly._

Don't blink; didn't blink. Regardless, it didn't matter. The beast leapt toward the Sadslinger and aimed directly for his fake arm. He managed to get his hand and knife away from the left side of his body, just in time before the beast sank its fangs into his arm.

The beast heard metallic crunching and heard wires ripping. It tasted nothing but cold metal within its mouth. No blood, none! No matter. The tongue of the beast may have not been covered in blood, but its claws were drowning themselves in the fresh, crimson fluid.

The Sadslinger felt small spurts of blood erupt from his gut and fill his mouth. He began to cough out fair bits of blood.

 _It all happened far too quickly._

Upon drawing his blade, he had incidentally rendered his body completely open and vulnerable. The momentum had carried his right arm and blade away from his body altogether. Gods dammit.

The claws of the beast had dug themselves deep into his gut. Their twisted and hooked features clasped every inch of the Sadslinger's innards. His once starved and empty stomach were now filled with the beast's claws. But he did not dare to pry himself away. He no longer craved _distance._

Gods, it hurt so much. But he had no other choice. If he dared to pull away, he would surely die of blood loss. At least keeping the claws in his gut would stall the inevitable.

 _"Well, have any other tricks up your sleeves? Oh, my bad. I meant sleeve. Your left side really doesn't a sleeve anymore,"_ the Masionette said while chuckling at his counterpart's condition.

Normally, the Sadslinger would have found the Masionette's voice to be irritating, but he found himself grinning maniacally; then violently convulse in fits of chuckles.

"Oh... just one."

Using his fingers, the Sadslinger flipped the hilt of the bayonet so that the blade faced him and raised it over his head. Purely filled by adrenaline, will-power, and hysteria, he drove the edge of the blade through the beast's skeleton mask and into its right eye.

 _"Your pain, my pleasure,"_ the Sadslinger thought wickedly.

Immediately, the beast howled in pain as the Sadslinger ripped out the blade from its fleshy crevice, black liquid squirting onto the sharp metal. The beast's fangs let go of the fake arm as it stumbled backward, writhing and wallowing in pain. But the Sadslinger was doing the same as well.

As soon as he drove the knife into the eye, the beast unsheathed its claws from his gut and used them to cover its eye. The Sadslinger collapsed to the ground, the force shifting the organs in his body to spill right onto the snow.

The cold of the snow. It stiffened the pain, but only by a marginal amount. The Sadslinger looked up and saw the beast still careening and thrashing in agony. It wasn't dead yet, and the Sadslinger was running out of time. He needed to land a killing blow.

He flexed his fingers and felt the sandalwood still within the grasp of his hand. Miraculously, he had gripped the bayonet with all his strength, while his own life was seemingly slipping away.

 _"You know, you're such a bad liar,"_ the Masionette said with disappoint lacing every word. _"You said you only had one more trick up your sleeve."_

The Sadslinger grinned once again. This time, he did not reply to the Masionette. Instead, he narrowed his indigo eyes on the beast. It was swerving its head side to side in an erratic pattern. But somehow, the Sadslinger's eyes zeroed in on the beast's other eye. Left, down, up, down, right, left, right. The Sadslinger stared intently at the sickening remaining black orb that occupied the beast's eye socket. He predicted where the beast's eye would be, no matter how aggressively it shook its head.

One last trick.

Right as the beast veered its face to the left, the Sadslinger deviated all his remaining strength to his right arm. His eyes flared sapphire one last time, as he pathetically pushed his body off from the ground and threw the bayonet. The blade pierced through the air sharply and impaled its intended target. The beast's arms fell to its sides as it surrendered the last of its life away. It began to limp forward, its hind legs buckling underneath its undead weight. Finally, it collapsed forward, landing right next to the Sadslinger.

The beast's tongue slacked out of its mouth in defeat. The black ooze that once filled its body began to spill out and inch ever-so-closer to the Sadslinger. He didn't even have enough energy to react, whether it would have been a pitiful chuckle or a scoff of disgust. He laid in the snow, apathetic to his so-called "victory". His breathing had become ragged and he finally closed his eyes, the sa(fire) that once dwelled within them had finally been snuffed out.

The Masionette suddenly began to clap at the Sadslinger's performance. _"Full of cliches, but still entertaining nonetheless."_

The Sadslinger responded by rolling onto his back, exposing his eviscerated guts to the winter front.

 _"Hehe, oh dear oh dear. How will you continue to chase me in that condition?"_

"I swear, I'll hunt you down. I'll find you and end it all."

 _"How many times have you died saying those very same words?"_

How many times? The Sadslinger had no clue. He had stopped counting. Maybe if he did so, the outcome would change.

 _"Oh well. Another bites the dust, or is it snow?"_

"It doesn't matter if this part of me is lost forever. I **will** kill you, Cain..."

 _"Oh... you finally called me by **that** name."_

For once, it genuinely sounded as if the Masionette was offended. Deep breaths rung in the Sadslinger's ears as the Masionette began to calm himself.

Clearing his throat, he spoke a little quieter.

 _"I guess I can give you a bit of a bone, little doggie."_

Suddenly, the black fluid latched into the Sadslinger's open stomach and inundated it. Soon, it began burrowing through his body and flooded into his very soul. He began to convulse violently, but his voice was drowned and silenced.

 _"Think of it as... a little gift. Just to spice things up a bit. Who knows? Maybe something will change."_

The Masionette laughed vigorously, gasping for air between each little "hic" of laughter.

 _"Well, be seeing you soon, in another life, of course. It's been fun my dear, younger brother, Abel."_

With that, the Masionette's voice began to fade back into Abel's mind as his eyes were filled with the sickening black, forever becoming the depiction of the abyssal winter front. Finally, he ceased and his body became forsaken and forgotten in the snowy void.


	11. A Waning Reality

**"It's hard to wake up from a nightmare if you aren't even asleep" - J . S**

* * *

Abel immediately shot up from his bed cover and began hacking out the bile that had been building up in his stomach. On reflex, he brought his right hand to his mouth to contain his ailment as best he could. The nightmare, **his** nightmare, was finally over. But the putrid images of gore and death still lingered in his mind.

A baron winter trap;

An erratic and volatile beast who indulged itself in fresh blood;

A man driven to death by a voice that dawdled in his own head.

How should one process or make sense of such nonsensical things? Abel attempted to piece together what it all meant, but only a shudder down his spine was all that came into fruition. Gods, was he going insane?

No, no. Reality and the slumbering psychosis are nothing alike. Right?

Abel began to take deep breathes to aid in stiffening his stomach. He needed to sober his mind, which had become a tangled mess of adrenaline and sleepiness. Perhaps splashing cold water from the tap would help. Abel lazily threw his legs over the edge of his bed's side, swinging along the rest of his body. He turned his head towards his nightstand and read the clock with disappointment. It was only two o'clock in the morning, sharp; only four hours of rest.

 _"Seems like I need to correct myself,"_ Abel thought bitterly to himself. _"I **won't** make it..."_

With that, Abel shifted his body weight onto his left foot and stood up. He outstretched his right arm and leaned onto the nearby wall. Slowly but surely, he began to hobble his way to the bathroom.

As he made his way to the bathroom, his mind began to wander back to the nightmare. The beast, it wasn't of Grimm origin, was it? Maybe later, he could describe the beast's features to Port. But Abel still highly doubted that Port would be able to identify it. But first, he needed to pay a bit of a visit to Oobleck. Hopefully, he would be generous as to lend him a shot of his secret coffee recipe, or maybe two; possibly three. Abel could also pique Oobleck's interest in Remnant's geography and history to search for that wint—

Gods, why was he treating his nightmare as if it was a reality? But, even so, it felt so real to Abel. Words couldn't describe the eerie feeling of familiarity Abel felt within his nightmare. Could it have because the "Sadsliger" shared the same name as him? Could that have been the connection, despite being so simple and childish? He immediately scrapped the thought of asking his fellow peers for help.

Although, a few shots of Oobleck's coffee would still gladly be appreciated.

Finally, Abel's fingers scraped against the wooden doorframe of the bathroom. His thoughts abruptly shifted back to his original task, splashing cold water on his face. He sleepily fumbled his body past the door frame and flicked the light switch on. The bright and brilliant bathroom lights momentarily blinded Abel before he could instinctually squint to shield his eyes. But even if he was blind, Abel could still make out the blurry shapes of faucet taps.

He let go of the wall and latched onto the edge of the marble countertop with all seven of his fingers. After recomposing himself, he turned on the right tap and watched blankly as the water poured into the sink and down the drain. Abel then formed a cup with his right hand and placed it under the running faucet and caught as much water as he could. After having his needy hand filled with an adequate amount of water, he quickly threw the water onto his face, not caring where the residue of water may go.

"Ah...", Abel softly hummed, the sound subconsciously escaping his lips. The adrenaline and sleep finally left his eyes as each drop of water drenched his eyes and pale skin. Feeling both satisfied and rejuvenated, Abel brushed his bedside mannered hair out of his face and looked in the mirror.

He instantly felt his lips quiver., his heart stop, and he breathes becoming shorter and shorter.

Sickening blackness. The same sickening black of the beast.

It now filled Abel's irises.

The once brilliant sapphire color was swallowed and drowned in a sea of sickening black. Not even his pupil could be seen anymore. It was just a dark void in the center of his eye.

"No, oh dear gods, no. I'm—I must be dreaming I... I need to wake up..."

Abel began whispering white lies to himself, unable to cope with the reflection of reality in the mirror. But there it was, staring right at him; supplanting its existence in his mind, and wrenching itself deep within his very soul.

Suddenly, Abel's eyes began to pour out streams of blackness from themselves. Black vile began to churn inside his stomach and shoot up his esophagus. Abel leaned over the sink and began to vomit out the blackness, tainting the pearl white sink.

The pain. Oh gods, the pain! The way it flooded his senses. Abel felt his knees buckled, and he inevitably collapsed onto his right side. His insides felt as if they were drowning, yet his flesh was ensnared in hellfire. The bleeding and vomiting wouldn't cease, and Abel was in too much agony to do anything else but writhe in the pain.

Abel could feel his soul slowly slip out his body, only for it to stubbornly refuse the afterlife and cling back onto Abel's body.

 _"Why... why won't you just let me die?! Somebody—please, anybody—end it all..."_

Suddenly, a series of faint knocks rung out in Abel's ears.

 _"Wha—who, where...?"_

Hope immediately sparked in Abel. Elisa! She had come for him.

Miraculously, Abel had clung to life for two whole hours. The faint knocks slowly increased in volume until they finally became fully wound up kicks. A faint smile curled onto Abel's face. Elisa always had an awful habit of not caring about other people's personal space, especially when it came to volume.

 _"She'll surely wake up the other teachers at this rate,"_ Abel weakly chuckled to himself, the pain not as potent as before.

The bleeding had finally subsided.

With his strength gone and his mind growing numb, he slowly began to slowly close his eyes, and wait for Elisa.

Would he live, would he be able to recover if he did? At the moment, Abel didn't even care for such trivial questions. Apathy was all his mind could grasp.

Finally, his eyelids shut over his once bleeding eyes. Abel allowed the fresh, sickening black fluid to consume them. He began to feel a steady pace of breaths escape his mouth as well. His vomiting had also ceased.

Darkness ensnared itself around his mind, and he would have been a stubborn fool not to welcome it.

But before Abel could finally rest from his hellish endeavor, a voice quietly whispered in his mind. It was **the** voice.

So soft—so soothing.

 _"Do you not remember your burden?"_

The last thing Abel heard afterward was the door breaking off its hinges. Then, all faded away.


	12. Smeared With Mortality

**"The tragedy of life is not death but what we let die inside of us while we live" - Norman Cousins**

* * *

Coco found herself laying quiet and still in her bed. Unlike her teammates, sleep had evaded her mind all through the night.

Yatsuhashi was snoring so loudly that any bystander would be forgiven to think he was choking to his own Adam's apple. Most naturally assumed he was the strong, silent, and protective type of the team, at least, when he was awake. When sleep was the first and foremost thing on his mind, he would stow his massive sword beneath his bed, miraculously, before slothfully falling face first into his pillow.

On the more difficult missions, he would not even bother to take off his armor before crashing into his bed. The sound of metal raping metal as Yatsuhashi tossed and turned in his bed very much annoying his teammates.

But even so, they knew better than to wake their 'guardian' from his slumber.

* * *

Fox had completely exhausted himself and had fallen asleep on top of his desk while studying for an upcoming Grimm exam that professor Port had warned them of a week prior.

He found himself truly fortunate that Beacon understood and compensated for his disability and granted him access to notes and texts in braille. Each little dot that traced across the pages of his textbooks reminded him of how attentive the academy and their staff were.

Fox folded his arms overtop one another and laid his right cheek into his little makeshift nest. Soft sighs escaped his lips as he drifted into his dreams. Though, they were never different from one another. It would all be shrouded in darkness, with only voices to narrate a story his subconscious mind made up.

* * *

Velvet was more than exhausted from the antics of the day. The whirlwind of tests, upcoming and due projects, the gods' forsaken essays, the list ran on and on. But how could she forget about Coco's rash and reckless actions earlier?!

Even so, Velvet couldn't help but admire her team leader.

She couldn't remember the first time the nickname 'freak' reached her rabbit ears, but she certainly could remember the last time.

Quiet, timid; both attributes of her personality would have been acceptable in she was only human. What a cruel thing fate can be. But she still would not sacrifice anything to change her heritage. Thanks to who she was, it had given her a unique opportunity to see the more affable humans in society. Her teammates were a prime example.

(Without a doubt in her mind, Cardin Winchester was the shining example of a racist dirtbag, though she'll never say it aloud).

But at times, her teammates could be a little overprotective for her wellbeing. She remembered once how Coco almost had to attend a painfully long detention course with Miss Goodwitch for three weeks after she commissioned an unsupervised fight with a gang of first-years who had bullied her.

No, 'fight' would have been too generous of a word. Execution would be more fitting.

Velvet genuinely felt a sigh of relief escape her lungs when Miss Goodwitch happened to pass by the amphitheater and saw Coco slaughtering the would-be bullies with her Gatling gun. Fortunately for Coco, she had managed to tame herself well enough to keep their aura levels in the red, no matter how minuscule the percentage was.

After Coco somewhat justified her actions to the Headmaster, she only needed to attend detention for three days, thankfully.

After this, Velvet could see just how kind her teammates were to her. She noticed all the small gestures and acts of courtesy they did for her. From Yatsuhashi protecting her on missions to Fox giving her small pats on the back whenever she was feeling down to Coco defending her against any brazened bullies.

Yes, it was quite a fortuitous time to be a Faunus among team CFVY.

* * *

Coco's heart hadn't tempered itself within her chest ever since the little incident with the new professor. She certainly wasn't expecting to be put in such an exposed and embarrassing position... directly on top of him.

In all her honesty, Coco had never been so close to another person before, much less a man. Sure, she could get a little "hands-on" with the first-years and second-years, but it because of her prideful and confident and overall teasing personality.

But the incident; that was far out of her grasp.

The way she stared in the new professor's eyes with such estranged intimacy, while in hushed silence. It overwhelmed her, to say the very least.

She didn't know whether or not to sigh in relief or let out a panicked scream when the new professor's assistant walked into the classroom. Elisa, was her name? Regardless, she honestly felt guilty after she was lifted off of Abel, with the help of Velvet, and saw the professor in his entirety, crippled body and all.

Perhaps she did overreact to him calling Velvet by her real name. Maybe she shouldn't have barged into the classroom the way she did, completely neglecting Velvet's opinion.

It was guilt that was stopping Coco from sleeping. No matter tried she may have been earlier, her conscience wouldn't let her rest. She needed to apologize for her audacious actions.

"Uhhh, dammit," Coco whispered to herself before gently throwing her feet onto the wooden floor.

She threw on a pair of assorted and certainly mismatching set to clothes, to which she felt like she was betraying the fashionista side of her, and walked out of team CFVY's dorm room. Coco took one last look in the room, double-checking if she might have woken up any of her teammates. Satisfied with her teammates' lethargic reactions, she closed the door with a faint click.

Coco began tiptoeing her way around the second-year's dormitory. It was four in the morning, and Coco knew that everyone was still trying to get their beauty or brainy sleep. She began to think of what she would say to the new professor, no, Abel. Was it going to awkward, yes; but the necessity of apology was without question. If she turned back now, what would that say about her?

She just needed to knock on his door, quickly apologize, and hurry back to her dorm room. That's all she needed to do.

Finally, she reached the professors' dormitory. She began breathing in and out deeply to calm herself.

"It'll be simple Coco. You'll knock, say sorry, and leave. I can apologize later in the day if I need to. Just get this out of the way and then you can finally get some rest. Capische?"

Coco walked into the dormitory and immediately felt an unnatural sense of unease. There was a foul stench in the air. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but a presence had made itself vividly known.

Regardless, she brushed aside the anguished air and quietly began to walk the halls of the dorm.

As she tiptoed around, she looked in amusement at the peculiar doors of the professors. Each one of them was unique, a reflection of the professor who dwelled beyond them.

Port had a quite obvious fake Beowolf skull hung upon his door; Oobleck had the map of Remnant's kingdoms carved on his; while Glynda interestingly didn't have a trace of any decor on her door.

As Coco passed through the hallway, she squinted slightly and noticed that it ended and hooked to the left. She didn't see any other doors that aligned themselves against the corridor walls.

"Well, now it's certainly too late to turn back now."

She began to feel chills slither down her spine as she neared to the corner. The same unease sensation washed over the rest of Coco's body.

What was it? Could it have been last second doubts? No, she surely had more integrity than that. It felt familiar, but foreign to her all the same.

Coco felt her eyes widen as she rounded the corner. Twenty feet in front of her was a completely broken door belonging to a dorm room. Shrapnels of oak scattered themselves all across the floor. The hinges of the once 'door' were completely ripped out, taking some pieces of the hallway wall with it.

Faintly, Coco could hear sobs resonating in the room. She swallowed hard as she debated what to do.

It was one thing to help someone to appeared to be in need. But this, this was entirely different. If Coco dared to peer past the veil of the doorway and see whatever lied in wait for her eyes, she may witness something that will haunt her for all eternity. Her instincts begged her not to go any further, but both her stubborn conscience and curiosity won out once again.

Coco felt her knees wobble as she adamantly dragged them to the entrance of the dorm room. She wrapped her fingertips around the doorframe and paused.

"Inhale, Coco... just inhale and exhale."

She cautiously glanced inside the room and saw the bathroom lights to be switched on. She finally mustered enough courage to fully enter the room when she heard a heartbreaking noise. Whoever had been crying was now choking on their own tears.

Still wary of the whole scenario, she took small steps and leaned forward to catch a glimpse inside the bathroom. There was a woman on her knees, with her back turned to Coco.

It was her, the source of the crying.

Adorn in a white nightgown, with braided midnight blue hair tracing down her back. There was no doubt. It was Elisa.

"Hel—hello? Are you alright?" Coco called out, much more hesitant than intended.

Elisa slowly stifled her tears and turned around, teary golden eyes meeting with startled dark brown eyes.

"What's wrong?" Coco asked as sincerely as possible. Elisa slowly began to turn the rest of her body to face Coco.

Coco gasped in shock and horror, her mind unable to formulate words to describe the horrific scene in front of her. Elisa was cradling Abel's head in her stomach and lap. Streams of fresh, perverse black liquid had dribbled from Abel's eyes and mouth onto the front of Elisa's nightgown, smearing it in a massive puddle and miscellaneous splashes of black. His eyes were lightly closed, and his mouth was ajar. Coco began to shutter in disbelief as she saw Abel's body was completely limp and his diaphragm wasn't moving at all.

"He... he isn't...? Is he...?" Coco croaked out of her mouth.

Elisa didn't say a word. She only brushed aside Abel's hair and leaned forward, her quivering lips lightly brushing against his forehead. She then burrowed his head back into her chest and cried her heart out to Coco as the sun rose and shun on the academy.


	13. The Entailed and the Enquired

**"You may not always get the truth that you want from me, but you'll always get the truth" - Unknown**

* * *

Velvet grumbled aloud as she felt someone gently grip her shoulder and rock her awake. Perhaps it was her drowsed state or maybe the timid yet kind nature she possessed that prevented her from mustering all her strength to heel kick her irritant. Regardless, she conceded to the wishes of her would-be bully and arose from the safety and comfort of her blankets.

Yawning and tussling around with her tangled brown hair with her fingertips, she glanced around the room in search of her belongings. Yesterday's events had left her completely drained throughout the rest of the day. She vaguely remembers indifferently tossing her notes, school uniform, and even camera all over the dorm room in a petty attempt to hurry herself to bed.

It worked, however, she certainly regretted doing it.

Suddenly, a mug appeared right in front of Velvet's face. For a brief moment, Velvet was taken aback, startled even. "It's just coffee Velvet, nothing too frightening," a calming voice said to her.

Yatsuhashi slightly smirked as he held the mug of coffee in front of his Faunas teammate. Velvet had never been a morning person. Yatsuhashi had the misfortune of learning this the hard way.

It was during one of the first mornings team CFVY had spent together as a team. When he was told to wake Velvet up (as she was still fast asleep, while everyone else had already adorned their school uniforms), he politely obliged. He had the misfortune of feeling the very same heel kick Velvet had used to bash Grimm skulls in during their initiation. And to add further insult to injury, Velvet had aimed a bit lower than she had intended.

Nonetheless, Yatsuhashi humbled himself and continued with his task of waking Velvet awake, (albeit he always diligently pivoted and angled his body accordingly).

Velvet swiped the mug out of Yatsuhashi's grasp and chugged the caffeine down her throat. As she flooded her insides with the morning drug, she could feel her senses slowly coming back to her. Finishing the last drop in the mug, she lowered the cup from her lips and sighed, having been fulfilled.

"Hm, it's not the same brew as usual," she thought aloud. "Oh, well, thank you for the coffee Yatsuhashi."

He smiled and nodded in response.

"Oh, if you're wondering about the coffee, that would be my fault."

Velvet looked past Yatsuhashi to see Fox walking out of the dorm kitchen while wiping his hands with a kitchen cloth. Velvet tilted her head slightly in confusion. Fox had never been one to brew coffee in the morning. If anyone on their team brewed the best coffee, it would be Coc—

Realization finally struck Velvet. Coco was nowhere in sight. She scanned all around the room, attempting to search for her missing team leader and cherished friend. But to no avail, she strangely wasn't in the dorm.

"If you're looking for Coco, I haven't seen her this morning," Yatsuhashi said, modest concern lacing his words.

Velvet's ears straightened as she processed what Yatsuhashi just said. She looked over at Coco's nightstand to see that she had left her scroll and even her sunglasses. Velvet's eyes widened as she saw Coco's most prized possessions laying alone, and without their owner. She would never, under any circumstance (that Velvet could think of), leave without taking them with her.

"What? Where could she have gone?! Why would she leave so suddenly, and without her scroll?! What if she's in trouble or even terribly injured—or...or—!" Velvet began to stutter out in rushed panic.

"Velvet," Fox sternly while firmly, yet gently, gripping her shoulder. "Coco is our leader for a good reason. I'm sure she's fine. She can handle herself."

Velvet weakly groaned aloud as she briefly scolded herself. She knew better than anyone else that Coco was more than capable of protecting herself. But that still begged the question, where exactly was Coco?

 _"Tch, what an idiot! The freak can't even think for herself!"_

Velvet felt her lips tremble as the voice of Cardin Winchester began to ring in her head.

Why...? Why did he always haunt her every waking moment? He didn't even need to be in the same room as her to torture her anymore. Distance was nothing but a sweet lie Velvet tried to use as a shield against Cardin's abuse. But while the sticks and stone he threw may have only broken her bones, his words broke her soul.

 _"Aw, need your precious leader to come comfort you? How pathetic! You're nothing but a freak of nature! You low-life piece of_ —"

"Velvet?"

She immediately snapped back to reality as Yatsuhashi called out her name.

"What? Oh, I'm sorry..." she said.

"Are you alright? You look a bit out of it," Yatsuhashi said as he stared attentively at Velvet.

"Oh, yes. I just got, uh, caught up in my own thoughts is all," she said, neither lying or telling the truth.

 _"Liar..."_ Cardin whispered to her before disappearing back into the harrowing depths of her mind.

Indeed, she was a liar. Just how many excuses had she made to her teammates about her wellbeing now? The mere thought of it made butterflies churn and twist her stomach. Would she be weak if she told her teammates, or was she already weak for not telling them?

"If you say so," Yatsuhashi said with a sigh, unsatisfied with Velvet's response but choosing not to pry.

"In any case, we should probably get going soon."

Velvet's ears immediately perked up.

"Huh? Where are we going?"

"Ozpin's office," Fox said before indifferently. "Says he wants to see us about something."

Fox tossed Velvet's school uniform into her ill-prepared hands. She briefly juggled her articles of clothing before finally grasp them into her chest. She sighed in both a mixture of relief and slight annoyance. It was going to be (if not was already) a hectic day again. Only this time it was missing Coco.

"Oh yeah, one more thing," Fox said while straightening his uniform's tie.

"Oz especially wanted you to come in."

* * *

Velvet felt a strong urge to bite her nails as team FVY rode the elevator to the Headmaster's office. She had ever been called upon by the Headmaster personally before. She felt small, though not vulnerable. Nervous and yet still comfortable. But the urge of scrapping her pearly whites across the tip of her nails was still ever present.

Finally, the elevator doors dinged, signaling that they had reached their destination. When the metal doors parted from one another, team FVY found themselves in a witnessing a very odd sight.

Glynda was standing next to Ozpin's desk, her right arm crossing over her chest. Her left arm, however, was poised upwards, her fingers curled into a small fist that covered her mouth. Her emerald eyes were blank and vacant.

On the other hand, Ozpin was sitting in his desk. His back was arched forward, and his elbows bore into the glass desk at a sharp angle. His fingers intertwined with one another and formed a platform for his chin to rest upon.

"Oh, team CFVY. Apologizes, you may come in," the Headmaster said. He immediately straightened his back and folded his hands together on atop his desk.

Glynda let her hands fall to her sides briefly before pulling them back up and crossing them in front of her chest.

Velvet, Fox, and Yatsuhashi sensed there was a strong sense of anxiety that filled the room. But the trio did not hesitate in entering Ozpin's office.

"You wanted to see us, sir?" Fox asked as FVY stood just short of the Headmaster's desk.

"Yes, Mister Alistair. Though, as you already know, I particularly wanted to talk to Miss Scarletina," Ozpin said.

Velvet felt her fingers begin to fiddle and fidget with one another and looked down at her feet.

"Now Miss Scarletina," Ozpin began to say. "You're not in trouble of any kind."

Velvet looked up and breathed a sigh of relief. She thought he was going to mention the stunt the Coco had pulled the day before.

"However," he continued. "I do need to ask you a few questions regarding the new professor?"

Velvet cocked her head and her brow. Could Ozpin have been asking her about Abel's teaching methods? Or how he was managing with his injuries in the classroom? Velvet brushed aside the questions. Her curiosity would be satiated.

"Alright," she replied.

"Good. Now, shall we?"


	14. A Given

**"I get nervous about everything. Sometimes I literally don't know why I'm anxious. I just am and no-one seems to understand that" - Unknown**

* * *

"Was Mister Pryderi acting strange at all yesterday?" Ozpin asked as gently as possible. Even so, there was a hint of poised trepidation that permeated the breath of the Headmaster. Anxiety? No, that could not be. The Headmaster confident in his mannerisms, especially with his astute, keen, and insightful words. Even so, Velvet could faintly hear and feel the hushed concern that the Headmaster tried to hide, but she chose wisely to not dwell upon it.

"He just seemed to be a bit, well, socially awkward around others," Velvet answered honestly, as she flashed a smile, her fingers cupped neatly in her lap; tight and closed.

"I see..." the Headmaster sighed deeply. It was not the answer he had sought out for, but Velvet had answered his question truthfully. "Well, I suppose I should rephrase the question," the Headmaster said to himself.

He placed his thumb beneath his chin while his index finger curled over his lips in deep thought, his eyes went blank as he stared into his similarly empty mug. Finally, his russet eyes narrowed themselves back to Velvet.

"Was Mister Pryderi showing any signs of sickness or health issues, anything of the sort?"

"No, he spoke quite clearly but was very quiet. Even with my ears, I was barely able to hear him speak," Velvet said, half to herself and the other half to the Headmaster. Her ears twitched, as if in agreement with Velvet's answer.

A small smile seemingly curled itself upon her lips as she found it amusing how someone so soft-spoken could choose to teach a class.

"No sinuses at all, not even a simple cough or sneeze?" the Headmaster asked abruptly; effectively wiping away Velvet's brief and gentle smile. Her posture straightened out in modest surprise.

"No, sir. Um, I beg your pardon, but, why exactly are you asking me this?"

Ozpin sighed deeply. His usual calm and composed demeanor completely faded away, smeared by a grim shadow of bitterness and anguish. Glynda's strict and stern exterior too began to crack under the weight of Velvet's seemingly simple question. Her fingers begin to tighten their grip on her sleeves creating peaks and valleys of folds and wrinkles across its once neatly ironed cotton. She had turned her emerald eyes away from Velvet's innocent brown eyes.

How naive they were, despite being halfway through their studies in Beacon. Should one feel pity for them, knowing full well that their naivety won't last?

The Headmaster gently cleared his throat and spoke in a quiet and soft tone. "There... was an incident last night, regarding Professor Pryderi..."

Velvet felt her eyes widen and felt a lump begin to swell in her throat. It was as if her words were all attempting to pour out from her mouth, but instead lodged themselves in her voicebox. Her heart sank straight down to her stomach and began to churn it in every possible direction.

"I'm afraid that Miss Adel too has also been affected in this recent incident," Ozpin said as delicately as his voice could muster.

No, no! Why would it—why _did_ it have to be her of all people? Her lips quivered violently in anxiety; her hearing was distorted and drowned in a constant ringing that filled her ears. Her brown eyes became vacant and empty and blank. She barely even registered Yatsuhashi's hand grip her left shoulder, in a vain attempt to calm her down. But Velvet could feel her lungs empty themselves; she felt the need to gasp for air. Suffocating—she felt her head become dreary and dizzy and drunk.

"...vet—!"

 _"Hm? Is someone there...?"_

"Velvet—!"

 _"Who's that? Who's there? Who's calling me?"_

"Miss Scarletina!"

Velvet gasped aloud as she was forcibly snapped back into reality. It may not have been the reality she wanted to be in, but she had no other choice. She turned to face Yatsuhasi and flashed him a smile. Whether or not she smiled to reassure him or to herself didn't matter; regardless, it was all a facade. She then turned back to the Headmaster who's eyes stared into hers with concern.

"Miss Scarletina... are you alright?" the Headmaster said both gentle and quietly (though, it was louder than before).

"Ah, yes. I—I'm sorry," Velvet said whispered in embarrassment. Her fingers tightened around each other as she fought the urge to fidget with them. She felt her ears heat up and felt a drop of cold sweat pour out from her forehead.

Ozpin breathed a small sigh (either from exhaustion or relief), and laid back into his armchair. He pitched and began to massage the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes.

"Please Miss Scarletina. Calm yourself. Miss Adel is alright."

Velvet let out of sigh of relief. She felt her heart slowly rise from her stomach and back to her chest. So young, so naive. Perhaps if she was a bit wearier, she might have sensed that the Headmaster had not finished.

"...for lack of a better term."

Ozpin briefly looked to his assistant, and the two shared a silent consensus. Glynda pulled out her scroll and began to message someone while Ozpin got up from his desk, grabbing his cane as he rose from his armchair. It all happened seemingly so suddenly. Team FVY didn't even realize the Headmaster had called for the elevator until they heard a familiar sounding _ding_. Ozpin gestured towards the open doors as team FVY stared in both curiosity and bewilderment (mostly the former). Glynda put down her scroll and made her way to the elevator as well, and stood beside the Headmaster.

"Perhaps it would be better to show you," he said.

* * *

The silence was thick—daunting, as the Headmaster, his assistant, and his students rode the bullhead out of the academy grounds. Nobody wanted to say a thing; nobody wanted to ask any questions about their destination. It was either out of the fear that their assumptions were wrong or that they were right.

Velvet had found guilt welling up inside her every since they left Beacon. Was it wrong to rejoice that someone you barely knew was hurt, instead of a dear friend? It all seemingly felt so wrong yet so natural to her. Should she ask how badly Abel's condition was, or would that make her feel even worse?

She stared blankly out of the windows of the bullhead and looked below to the bustling and cheerful streets of Vale. Citizens going at whatever pace they pleased to whatever destination they pleased. There were children running around the park, playing countless games of tag and hide-and-seek; mothers were chatting endlessly with one another in the local cafes, making conversion of how their "youths had been spoiled"; fathers were making hardy laughs as they slap each other on the backs as they raise one last glass to one another before saying their goodbyes.

They were all so blissfully ignorant to the dangers and horrors that awaited them just outside the kingdom. Oh, how she wished she could be like them.

"It seems we've arrived," the Headmaster said, once again snapping Velvet back into reality. She looked out the window and immediately her fears were confirmed. They had arrived at the Vale central hospital.

* * *

Velvet never did like hospitals. It wasn't for any particular reason. It was just the air that permeated. It was the estranged smell of alcohol, sweet lavender, and the bitterness of death that made Velvet feel on edge and weary. They all pervaded her nostrils as they entered the hospital's lobby. It wasn't as filled as Velvet had assumed it to be. She imagined it to be more packed and filled with hospital staff, all of them running around either carrying medical equipment or wheeling stretchers with injury citizens (or even hunters) to operating rooms.

Instead, there was just a front desk with a single nurse sitting behind it, typing ever so calmly and slowly on her computer. She had a thick pair of oval-shaped glasses that amusingly covered over half her face. Her blonde hair was tied neatly in a tight, high braided bun. She wore the standard turquoise hospital scrub and on her chest was a golden name tag that read the name "Sophia".

"Ah, Miss Larkson, nice to see you," the Headmaster said as he approached the desk.

She looked up from her computer and smiled softly and sweetly. "Pleasure to see ya as well Mister Oz. Well, aren't ya quite the sight for these sore eyes," she casually replied.

Velvet's ears twitched slightly, confused by the contradicting attire and voice. While her appearance may have seemed to be prim and proper, she had a casual and sassy southern accent. Though, it was a welcoming and pleasant surprise to Velvet. She felt the tension in her shoulders ease as the group followed closely behind Ozpin.

"I got yer message G.G. Ya wanna see Abel so early in the mornin'?" she playfully asked. However, beneath her initial playful tone, Velvet could hear a faint doubt and concerned timbre.

"Yes, we do Miss Larkson," Miss Goodwitch responded factly and without hesitation. Velvet giggled to herself as she saw Miss Goodwitch's already stern eyes grow colder at the mention of her nickname.

"Alrighty, just follow me loves," she said as she stood up front her desk. She grabbed a clipboard that dangled over the edge of the desk before she began to walk down the halls of the hospital. The group of hunters followed closely behind her. Only after a few steps into the hallway, the group came across a pair of elevators. Sophia stopped in front of one and leaned forward and pressed the button to call the elevator to them. Velvet looked at the overly familiar metal doors and accidentally let out a sigh from her lips. Sophia turned around and cocked a brow at Velvet, who once again felt her shoulders tense up.

"Darlin', do ya really wanna take the stairs that badly?"

* * *

"Well, here we are," Sophia said as she and the rest of the group stood in front of a wooden door with a black tinted window.

She reached for the doorknob but upon place her fingertips around it, a chill ran through her whole arm, causing it to quiver and shake. She recoiled and clutched her hand and buried it in her chest. Take a few deep breaths, she took off her glasses, revealing her stunning harlequin eyes, and looked to the Headmaster. "Are ya sure ya really wanna enter?" she asked, seemingly to both herself and the group.

"Yes..." Ozpin said quietly yet firmly.

Sophia nodded and after briefly calming herself down, clasped the doorknob once more and open it gently.

The first thing Velvet heard was the sound of a monitor _beeping_ rhythmically. Her ears also managed to pick up the sound of soft, raspy breathing. She also faintly heard—what was assumed to be—an IV bag dripping its fluids.

"Thank you," Ozpin said, mustering a faint smile as he walked past Sophia and entered the room. He only made four steps into the room before immediately stopping in his tracks. He pivoted his cane into the marble tiled floor and used it diligently as support. Glynda then followed, then Fox, just leaving Yatsuhashi, Velvet, and Sophia in the hallway. Yatsuhashi placed a firm and gentle hand on Velvet's shoulder and walked into the room. Velvet began to violently bite her lip as she couldn't bring herself to walk in through that door. What if she sees something that would haunt her for all days? Could she live with that disturbing image lingering in her head for the rest of her life? Envy—she felt it once again.

"Hey," Sophia said, somewhat suddenly. Velvet looked at Sophia and saw that her eyes had become warm and sincere.

"It's a part of our jobs. It's a given," she began to say. "But... know that ya aren't alone and there will always be ya can trust and talk to, love,"

Velvet smiled as she nodded her head. She felt her body slowly place one foot in front of the other. Finally, she reached the door and looked at Sophia. "Thank you," she whispered as she walked past her and into the room, daring herself not to look back.


	15. Beauty Sleep

**"Sleeping is my drug, my bed is my dealer, and the police is my alarm clock" - Unknown**

* * *

A slight breeze of the autumn wind carried the sweet yet sickening scent of lavender to the doorway. Velvet felt her ears twitch as the rest of her body flinched in discomfort, as the smell once again flooded her senses. Though, the smell was seemingly different. It was as if the potency of the pollen was far stronger than it was in the lobby. How strange. Intoxicated, she tightly shut her eyes while frantically rubbing her nose.

"Darlin', I think it's a bit too early to start cryin'," Sophia said both facetiously and wearily.

Velvet mustered a glimpse of a smile as she turned to face Sophia. She knew that Sophia was trying to lighten the mood, but it still felt all the same. Cold, heavy, thick, dreary, and full of lavender. She began to wonder how anyone could bear the burden of working in a hospital. But then again, she was a huntress. No matter where she went, it all seemingly lead to her envying those who were ignorant yet blissful.

"Miss Larkson, please, if you could," Ozpin somberly whispered.

"Oh, yeah, suppose I should show him to ya," Sophia murmured as she closed the door behind herself.

She lightly nudged Velvet (who was still trying to get the "damned fragrance" out of her system), as she walked past her. Sophia then reached out and grasped the pure white curtain, that was strung up on the ceiling. Her polished magenta nails gripped into the cotton fabric and pulled it to the side in one swift motion.

Velvet first noticed a perfectly still mass covered entirely by a seemingly vast snow-white sheet. Second, Velvet saw a pale hand lying atop the white blanket, gently coiled tightly around another's. The third thing she noticed was the long, draping chiffon hair that spattered itself all over the bedsheet in a twisted and tangled mess. Finally, Velvet took notice of the nightgown whose once rose-like color had been tainted and smeared with a vile black liquid. There was no face, as it had buried itself into the sheets, but Velvet could still feel her heart sink to her stomach as she recognized who it was.

"She hasn't left his side at all," Sophia said softly.

Elisa's lips quivered ever so slightly as the light draft created from the curtains brushed against her tear-stained face. Velvet noticed that Elisa's grip on both the bedsheet and the hand tightened. On reflex, Velvet covered her mouth in shock, but even a faint gasp would not emanate from her lips.

Ozpin slowly approached the dreary and exhausted Elisa a gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Immediately, Elisa shot up from her tranquil position. She instinctively clutched the hand she was once so gently holding and protectively (violently) drove it into her chest, while glaring daggers at whoever dared to touch her. Velvet was so taken aback by Elisa's sudden hostility, she had found herself two paces away from her she had stood.

"Elisa, it's just me," Ozpin whispered gently, seemingly unphased by Elisa's poised hostility. At first, Elisa's breathing was ragged and quick and sharp, but it slowly became weary and stilled. Even so, she refused to loosen her grip on the arm clutched into her chest so dearly. Ozpin placed a gentle hand onto her shoulder as Miss Goodwitch approached the two of them. She naively placed a hand upon the sheet, curious to see what exactly was underneath it. As she as her fingers laid themselves upon the soft cotton, Elisa's breath once again stiffened and quickened, as if warning Glynda that if she were to unveil that sheet, she would be damning them all.

"Glynda, please," Ozpin said as he turned to face Glynda with a soft glare. Immediately, Glynda took her hand off of the sheet and cupped it into her other hand, tightly, realizing what she had done.

Velvet stared in awe at the trio as the thick tension permeated the room. She was no longer distracted by the scent of lavender. She turned to Sophia, who had picked up the clipboard that was hung on the railing of the bed and was sifting through it, and looked at her with anxious eyes. Feeling the glare of irises staring deep at her figure, she looked up from her paper only to see a sight that practically begged her to roll her eyes at it while chuckling. Though, Sophia wisely fought the urge to do so.

"Darlin', if I had a lien for every time someone gave me that look, I guarantee I would have the funds to cure to every known disease in Remnant", Sophia said with a wink. "But I think I know some'm that might brighten ya day."

Velvet changed her expression to that of curiosity. Sophia gestured for her to follow her. Velvet complied and began to awkwardly shuffle—past the tension—and towards Sophia. She took seven paces before being confronted with another set of white curtain.

"I'll let ya do the honors this time," Sophia said as she nudged Velvet towards the curtain. Velvet could hear the sound of soft breathing just past the curtain. Naturally, she initially felt uneasy. A small part of her even began to wonder if she would stumble across another, yet identical, rigid mass underneath the vastness of hospital sheets. However, she ceased these thoughts as she remembered how Sophia's words. Velvet felt genuinely safe and assured when as Sophia's very same words rang out in her head.

She unconsciously held her breath and closed her eyes as she pulled the curtains to the side. The sharp, high-pitch sound of the metal rings scratching and scraping themselves across the metal bar made Velvet wince a little. She felt her teeth shiver as the rings reached the wall. Opening her eyes, she looked toward the bed and immediately her eyes widened. She would have gasped for air, but her breathing pattern was mismatching. Instead, she found herself short of breath as she tried to contain her very apparent shock. Sophia looked at Velvet's reaction with a toothy grin as she folded her arms confidently. "Well, go on darlin'. I'm sure her beauty sleep is over."


	16. The Tea Party

**"Twinkle, twinkle little bat; how I wonder where you're at; above the world, you fly; like a tea-tray in the sky" - the Mad Hatter**

* * *

Coco felt a chill run through every bone in her back as the autumn breeze slipped itself underneath the hospital blankets. She had, unknowingly, twisted and turned in her sleep, giving the breeze many openings to sweep over her exposed body. She tried to ignore them as best she could but to no avail.

* * *

She had nightmares that night. Whenever she would close her eyes she would find herself entangled and drowning in a thick, blackened mud-like liquid. It wrapped and coiled itself around her entire body, traveling from her feet to her neck. Binding her feet to one another and her arms to her side, it then slowly began to try and envelop her. And it enjoyed every second of it.

Coco would find herself attempting to scream in desperation and for help, but it would only allow the mud to flood her mouth, and drown out her futile pleas. Not that it mattered. It seemingly dug into every inch of her body, trying desperately to seep into her body and violate her insides. Underneath her nails, into the pores of her skin, it even tried to pry her eyelids open. It would not be denied.

And yet, Coco would still attempt to scream. She did not know who or what she was calling out to, nor did she care if whether or not they truly listened to her. All she wanted was for someone to hear her in those last few moments.

Then suddenly, it would writhe and seethe in annoyance before slowly dripped and peeling itself off of Coco. Unraveling her from its grasp, it would spin her whole body around till there was no trace of itself on her. Coco, stunned and disorientated would stumble for seven paces before feeling her legs falter and her balance teeter. She would begin to fall face forward onto—grass..? Her eyes shot open before tightly shutting and bracing themselves. But before she would feel the grass smother her cheek, she would feel a soft yet firm hand gently cradle her gut before lightly nudging her backward.

"Mind the cushion, would you?" spoke a smooth and tender voice. Coco would then suddenly feel herself being roughly seated upon a soft, leather cushion. First, her back sank into it, followed by the back of her head. A gasp of discomfort escaped Coco's lips as she felt her neck jolt from the sudden whiplash. She clenched her eyes and began to rub the nape of her neck.

"Oh, I do apologize, my dear. I sent the invitations out for this little tea party, but no one had yet to arrive in such a long time. I'm so sorry for being so abrasive."

Coco slowly opened her eyes and was immediately taken aback by her new surroundings. She was sat upon a crimson, chair sutured with leather cushioning; she found herself seated at the end of an absurdly elongated table. Strewn about the table were Valorian-styled plates with a wide of assortment of pastries decorating each plate. Crackers and crumpets, biscuits and scones, cakes and cupcakes. Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, cheese, and many more; it would be enough to thoroughly satiate any glutton's stomach. In the middle of the table was a teapot, properly short and stout. Twisting around the body were vibrant, emerald vines, and lavender petals decorated the lid of the teapot. The sweetening scent of earl grey tea would make Coco's heart flutter in delight.

But looking past the pastry pleasures and blissful beverages, Coco noticed a lavish yet unorthodoxly dressed man. Adorning a tophat that appeared to one size too large, and a rouge suit and auburn-colored vest with unshapely buttons. He was not paying much heed to Coco, instead intensely focusing on pouring out his tea. Though, he was pouring from an absurdly, almost comically high height. Modest droplets of tea even began to recklessly splash about in his cup, and would inevitably escape the confines of the teacup, only to find themselves assisting in decorating the table cloth a new "tangerine splatter" pattern.

Nonetheless, the man seemingly ignored his little mess and would continue to pour out the tea until the cup was filled to its brim. Satisfied, he would then happily sip the tea, ostensibly (blissfully) unaware of Coco's presence. After, he would diligently dab his lips with a nearby napkin. He would then fiddle with his fingers for a few moments before shrugging to himself, picking up the teapot, and doing it all again.

Coco would stare at the man as he continued to repeat his actions for the third time. She found herself having the urge to say something to the man, perhaps to lighten the mood. However, she couldn't seem to emanate any sound using her voice. Not even her breathing seemed to fill her hears with noise. How strange. Just a moment ago, she was crying out for someone to save her.

Suddenly, the man would set his cup down onto the coaster in front of him, and slouch himself into his chair. He would then cross his arms together and puff his cheeks out, like a small child. Lightly tapping his index finger against his sleeve seven times, he would let out a defeated sigh and let his cheek fall onto the table, dangerously close to the nearby cheesecake.

"Now, now. That's no what you should act when surrounded by a buffet of pastries! Pull yourself together!"

Shifting back into an upright posture, he would look at Coco and smile sweetly and innocently to her. "I do apologize, my dear. I let my emotions get the best of me. Alas, I feel much better. Thank you for waiting for my little tantrum to end. Now, shall we?"

Coco stared briefly into the wonderous, vibrant crimson eyes of her host; they were so captivating, so inviting.

Feeling the thickened air of silence beginning to dawn upon her, she would finally feel the urge to speak. However, when she opened her mouth, she would feel her throat begin to tighten, and her vocal cords to become entangled.

"Oh, that's right. How silly of me. We are after all on a bit of a timed schedule. Now, how could I let that slip from my mind?"

The man would then stand up from his seat, and reach into his vest's chest pocket and pull out a golden chained pocket watch. On its front casing, the pocket watch had a sort of fruit tree engraved onto it. On the half hunter cover were vines that weaved in and out amongst themselves in a beautifully simple, yet intricate design. Etched in the middle of the tree was a name. However, Coco could not make out what the word was as she was too far.

The man clicked the latch and looked at the hands of his hand-held device click. He would stare callously as the gears shifted and as the hands ticked quietly before sighing deeply, and closing the watch's case with his thumb, and diligently placing it back into his pocket.

"It is just as I feared... I'm so sorry, but it appears that we're almost out of time. Such a shame these little parties don't last from dusk till dawn. Ah, how I miss the youth-filled spirit," the man said with a mighty frown upon his face.

"Alas," he said as he once again regained his composure. "back to my point. I needed you to listen and be quiet. Of course, hearing my voice is far more soothing to my ears, regardless of our little 'pragmatic arrangement'... However, your screams earlier sure made me shiver with delight and ecstasy."

The man began to tremble and shake with as Coco's screams and pleas for help began to ring in his ears once more. Oh, how he so desperately it to violate and mutilate and molest her. It had been too long since he had that kind of entertainment.

"Now my dear, I will need you to do a favor for me. It won't be too hard of a task. And, quite frankly, your in no position to say no to me, my dear. After all, y **o** u'll **d** o an **y** t **h** in **g** fo **r** m **e** , **w** ou **l** d **n** 't **y** ou, m **y** d **e** ar **C** -O- **C** -O?"

Suddenly, the man's eyes would flare up and began to flicker brilliantly yet intensely. They were rapturous and harsh and drenched in ungodly sin. He stared deeply into Coco's very soul. Never breaking their eye contact, the man would slowly crawl up onto the table. Standing on the table, Coco noticed the man's sickening slender figure. His skin wrapped tightly around his bones like a thin coating over his skeleton. His bones themselves appeared to brittle underneath the weight of the skin that so dearly clung to it. The man then would sprout a deranged, stomach-churning Cheshire smile. Then, the corners of his lips would split and part in two, showing more rows of pearly whites.

Keeping his smile, the man would take long, tip-toed strides towards Coco, diligently weaving his feet in between the plates, coasters, and teacups. Though, he was only doing it for his peculiar amusement. Whenever he took a step, cockroaches, centipedes, maggots, and larvae would trickle from underneath his pant legs, and splatter onto the table. They would then scatter about and feast upon the delicacies and decor of the party. They left nothing but rotting and putrid mold and smut. The sound of their insect bodies crinkling and cracking as their legs crawling on the table began to fill Coco's ears. It got louder and louder with each step, as he drew closer and closer to her with each step.

Soon, the man was but a few inches from Coco. He would then kneel so he was face to face with his beloved guest. Coco tried to pull her face away, but her body slipped from her grasp once again. She tried to shut her eyes, but his eyes were just so alluring. They begged for attention, her attention. They demanded that she keep her eyes fixated upon him. The man would then place his fingers diligently upon her pale face. His fingertips would slowly and lightly caress her face. How soft they were, how smooth they were.

There was truly no escape.

"O **h** , m **y** d **e** a **r**. **W** ou **l** d **y** ou **k** in **d** ly **l** oo **k** **a** ft **e** r m **y** d **e** a **r** **b** rot **h** e **r**? I **t** 's **b** ee **n** s **o** l **o** ng **s** ee **n** w **e** 've **m** et **i** n **p** e **r** so **n**. I' **m** be **g** i **n** ni **n** g t **o** **g** et **s** o co **l** d, s **o** lo **n** ely. **B** ut I **n** e **e** d t **h** is fee **l** in **g** , **o** h y **e** s. I s **o** **s** in **c** ere **l** y **d** o."

The man would then slowly split his smile. He would then look up and began to churn his stomach and choke and gag. After a brief moment, he would thrust his face down, he began to vomit out springs upon strings of rusted, steel barbed wire. Coco was horrified as the wire would coil endlessly around the man's knees. After emptying his bowels, the man would look back at Coco and smile once again. Fresh blood would then spew from his smile and drip onto the wire, for the man had hooked and gnashed and gouged his own throat and mouth. Coco looked into the man's crimson eyes and saw nothing but a man deprived of humanity, and coated with bloodlust and insanity. The man would then go on all fours and begin to chew the barbed wire, like a rabid dog. After stuffing it all back into his mouth, he would then swallow it all once more. Satisfied, he would wipe a corner of his mouth with his hand. He would then begin to chuckle a raspy and hoarse and cracked laugh.

" **M** _y_ , m **y**. _W_ **h** a _t_ **a** **r** ea _c_ **t** io **n**. A **h** , i _t_ **n** e **v** _e_ r _g_ e **t** s o **l** _d_. **H** e _r_ **e** , **a** ll _o_ **w** m **e** , m **y** **d** _e_ a **r**."

The man then would reach out towards Coco and press his thumb against her cheek, wiping the tears that were dripping from Coco's eyes. She didn't even realize that she had been crying as she watched the man mutilate himself in front of her. He would then lightly glaze his index and middle fingers over her eyelids, closing them. He would then lean over and whisper into her ear.

"N **o** _w_ , m **y** d _e_ **a** r **s** _l_ e **e** _p_ in **g** **b** e _a_ uty, _w_ **a** k **e** u **p**. **V** e _l_ **v** et **w** a _n_ **t** s _t_ **o** s **e** e **h** _e_ r _d_ e **a** r **f** ri **e** n _d_. **O** h, a **n** _d_ **w** he _n_ A **b** _e_ **l** **w** a _k_ e **s** u **p** , **t** el _l_ **h** i _m_ **t** _h_ at **C** a **i** _n_ i **s** _g_ e **t** ti **n** g _s_ **o** , **s** _o_ l **o** n **e** _l_ **y** , _a_ **n** d **w** an **t** _s_ t **o** _s_ **e** e h _i_ **m**. **.**. **P** re **t** t _y_ **p** le **a** s _e_ **?** "


End file.
